


Personal History

by Current521



Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Friends to Lovers, Long-Distance Relationship, Lovers To Enemies, M/M, Pre-Canon, Slow Burn, background for their relationship, but like only sort of, will add tags as i go along probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:07:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 36
Words: 26,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22197556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Current521/pseuds/Current521
Summary: At the age of 23, Agent Curt Mega is one of the best. So is Owen Carvour. One collaboration becomes many, becomes friendship, becomes more than that. Until things go wrong.
Relationships: Owen Carvour/Agent Curt Mega
Comments: 206
Kudos: 106





	1. Curt

**Author's Note:**

> This has been in the work for quite a while, I'll try to stick to two chapters a day, but we'll see what happens. Basically just telling the story from the moment Curt and Owen meet and until the end of the show. Um, what is consistent chapter length?

“Mega!” Director Houston was excellent at greetings, Curt thought, as he walked into her office. “Sit your ass down, you have a new assignment.”

Curt sat across from her. “What do you have for me, Cynth?”

“If you call me that again I will poison your coffee. Now…” She stood and walked around her desk to put both hands on his shoulders. “Do you know where Marseilles is?”

“Uh, France?” Curt craned his neck to look at her. “You sent me there last year.”

“That doesn’t mean you know where it is. Valencia, remember?” She patted his shoulder. “Anyway, we’re sending you to Marseilles. We’ve had some American government officials working with some Brits to fund a communist group. MI6 is also sending an agent.”

“Oh, who?”

“Some kid named Owen Carvour. Bourbon?” She held out a flask.

“Thanks.” Curt took a sip and handed the flask back to her. “Never heard of this Owen guy. Is he any good?”

“The best, I’m told.” Director Houston lit a cigarette, which in retrospect was probably the longest Curt had ever seen her without one. “He’s waiting in Susan’s office. Now get out there, and  _ don’t _ embarrass me, Mega!”

“Of course not, Cynthia.” He got out of his chair and went to Susan’s office.

Susan was there, along with two other men. One was older, 40 or so, greying hair and heavy wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. The other was a lot younger, younger even than Curt, probably. He had dark brown hair, the barest hint of a stubble, and was wearing a soft canvas jacket over a t-shirt. An assistant, Curt assumed.

He walked up to the older man. “Ah, you must be Agent Carvour. Nice to meet you, I’m Curt Mega.” He held out his hand.

The younger man snickered, but the older man shook his hand. “I’m Cory Arlowe-Smith, director of the MI6. This is Agent Carvour.” He gestured to the younger man, and Curt suddenly understood his snicker.

“Ah. My mistake. Nice to meet you, Director Smith. Agent Carvour.” He put his hand out to the younger man, who shook it.

“Agent Mega. My pleasure.” He had a distinct British accent, far more pronounced than the director. He gave Curt a once-over, not even being subtle about it. “I hear we’re working together on this mission.”

“It seems so.” Curt, still a little put off by his own mishap, looked to Director Smith. “Director Houston only told me we were going to Marseilles. I’m assuming you will fill us in further?”

Director Smith shook his head. “We have a man meeting you in Marseilles. You’re getting packed and leaving immediately — please show Agent Carvour to the science department, he will be outfitted through you.”

“Alright, let’s go then. Right this way.” Curt held the door open for Agent Carvour and led him down the stairs to the science department. “So, Agent Carvour, how long have you been with the MI6?”

“Coming up on a year, excluding training.” Agent Carvour shrugged. “What was your name again? Curt?”

“Yeah.” Curt looked at him weird. “I wasn’t aware we were on a first name basis.”

“Oh, I should hope we are. I’m Owen.”   
“Owen then.” Curt opened the door to the science department and let Agent Carvour — Owen — walk in front of him. “We need to find Barb Larvener.”

They didn’t need to look; Barb came up immediately. “Oh Curt, it’s so good to see you! I—  _ We _ missed you, you’ve been out for a few weeks.”

“Training is important, Barb.” Curt clapped her shoulder. “This is Owen Carvour with the MI6. You’ll need to outfit both of us.”

“Of course. Now, we’ve been developing some new technology…” Curt zoned out as Barb kept talking. Owen seemed to be paying attention, but he kept glancing back at Curt with an exasperated smile.

They were out of there in five minutes, which was faster than Curt was used to; having Owen do the talking seemed to do the trick. Curt led the way to the airport.

“Hey, you’re British, right?” he asked as they walked onto the small jet waiting for them.

“Yeah, why?”

“Oh, I was just wondering why you came all the way to the US just to go back to Europe. Seems like a waste of time.” Curt settled himself in one of the passenger seats, and put his bag on the floor.

Owen sat down across from him. “Well, I’ve been over here for quite a while. Had some other work to complete.” He leaned back in his seat. “Looks like we have a few hours in front of us, so do you have any entertainment?”

Curt checked his bag. “Nope. Not so much as a deck of cards.”

“Well then.” Owen gave Curt another once-over with his eyes. “Looks like we’ll have to make our own fun then.” He looked into the ceiling as they took off. “Hmm. Well, might as well talk. Where did you grow up, Curt?”

Curt was slightly taken aback by the question. “Uh, Missouri. You?”

“Oxford. Thus the accent, I’m afraid.” Owen laughed. “I moved away when I was 14, lived in London since then. Been… Well, been five years now.”

Curt, who had been drinking water while Owen spoke, almost choked. “You’re  _ nineteen _ ?”

Owen nodded. “Just barely. Joined MI6 the moment I turned eighteen, been active duty ever since. I finished school a year early so I started training at seventeen.” He leaned back, arms out. “Come on, Curt, you’re not much older than me, are you?”

“No, I’m 23.” Curt drank some more water. “But I mean, I joined back in ‘45, you’ve only been around for a year?”

“Almost two, now, really. If you include training. Can’t imagine they put you in the field back in ‘45.”   
“First mission that December.” Curt smiled. “Not a big one, of course. Just a small sting in Ohio, of all places.”   
“Tell me about it.” Owen leaned forward on his elbows and looked up at Curt.

So Curt did. And then he told another story, and then Owen told a few stories — he was a really good spy, Curt realised, especially for his age — and somehow, they were in France.


	2. Owen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said, what is consistent chapter length? I think most of them are like this, don't know why the first one was so long, but I could be wrong

Owen hadn’t been worried about working with this apparently famous Curt Mega, but he wasn’t prepared for what he met. Curt bragged a lot, but there was clearly a sharp mind behind all the blundering and performance. Oh, and it didn’t hurt that he was younger and more attractive than Owen had expected. He seemed utterly oblivious to Owen looking him over and playing a fool, though, so he didn’t dial it down.

Curt was trying to make himself out to be better than he was, but Owen suspected that that was intentional. It ended up making him look like an idiot, but as far as Owen could tell from his stories, he was actually very competent. That had to be an advantage, especially when it seemed most foreign intelligence agencies knew who he was.

They landed in Marseilles and were met with a short French woman with a sharp accent. “You two. Mega and Carvour, yes?”

“Yes. You’re…” Owen ransacked his brain to remember their contact’s name. “Mademoiselle Delacroix?” His French was terrible, but oh well.

She nodded. “Oui. You look… Young.”

“He’s a member of MI6, doesn’t matter how young he looks,” Curt said, rather sharply. Owen contained a laugh, but let him handle the talking from there on out, instead enjoying that he had an excuse to watch him closely.

They were given more details on the communist cell, as well as the Brits and Americans funding it, and were sent off to a nearby hotel to plan.

They checked in and dropped their bags in their rooms, then Curt went to Owen’s room. “Let’s get the plan down,” he said when Owen opened the door.

“Of course.” Owen stepped aside to let him in. He leaned in to whisper. “Bug check.”

Curt nodded, and started checking the wallpaper on one side of the room. Owen started the other.

They were both fairly effective, so within a few minutes, they were sitting on the floor with a map between them. “I don’t speak French at all,” Owen said, “so if you expect any talking to be done, it’s on you.”

“I don’t speak French either, but since they’re working with foreigners, they’re probably used to English.”

Owen nodded. “I still think we should rely on stealth for this one, dear.” The nickname was an accidental slip, a force of habit, and he was almost about to correct it.

Curt smiled a little, clearly noticing, but not seeming bothered. “Good idea. Let’s see, if we go in this way…”

It took them almost two hours to outline a solid plan. Owen actively allowed the casual nicknames to slip through; it didn’t always mean anything to him, and he suspected Curt was chalking it up to him being British. Which wasn’t wrong, per se, but it wasn’t the whole truth either. Owen wasn’t stupid enough to actively try to sleep with this American, but well, call him careless, he was keeping his options open.

As the plan developed, Owen began to realise that Curt was much, much smarter than he’d initially given him credit for. He saw loopholes and opportunities Owen never even would have considered — and, admittedly, missed a few Owen thought obvious. But that was what made them a good team.

Once they were done with the plan, Owen felt confident the mission would go well. He said goodnight to Curt, who left with an awkward half-smile and a handshake.


	3. Curt

Curt was still mentally rehearsing the plan when he returned to his own room. He felt pretty confident in Owen's abilities, though, after their talk on the jet and the subsequent planning, so he wasn't worried.

It was pretty much the middle of the night, but although he'd been up early and travelling all day, the time difference kept him awake. He went to bed anyway, just going over the plan in his head once again.

He was excited to work with Owen. He was young and extremely confident in himself, but the confidence didn't seem misplaced. Plus, Curt figured, if MI6 was sending a literal teenager on this mission, they had to have some damn solid faith in that teenager.

Curt's thought drifted as he laid awake. He thought about the mission, and about how to minimise collateral damage, especially if there were civilians around. He thought about the people they were out to get, traitors to their country, helping out a fascist regime. He was old enough to remember working with Russians against the Nazis, but he was also aware of what the Soviets had become. He would never understand how anyone could support that. And then Owen, who was a cocky British bastard, but probably good. Curt hoped he was good. He seemed to be, seemed to care about the work they did. Curt went over their conversations in his mind until he fell asleep.

They had to leave early in the morning; the compound in Marseilles had significantly less security during daylight hours.

Curt drove. He'd offered Owen the keys, but he'd waved it away. "Oh no, I'm not used to driving like this, I'll let you handle that."

"Like what?"

"Right side of the road." Owen walked confidently to the driver's side, stopped, and walked around the car to the passenger seat. "Or right side of the car."

"Right." Curt got in and started the car. "Let's go. You got everything?"

"Of course dear."

They parked a few blocks from the compound and split up before arriving. Curt went to the front, Owen went around back. They were in and out in less than ten minutes; Curt did get seen once, but he’d gotten the guy down before he could raise the alarm. He’d also gotten blood on his shirt.

“What happened to you, old boy?” Owen looked a little dishevelled, but no worse for the wear, Curt noted when they met back up at the car.

“Oh, just had to take someone out, they were somewhere they weren’t supposed to be.”

Owen laughed. “Getting careless, Mega?”

“I can afford it,” Curt replied with an eyeroll. “Get in, we need to be out of here before they notice anything’s missing.”

“Or the corpse you left behind.” Owen got in the car, and Curt drove them back to the hotel.

Delacroix was waiting for them. “You’re going straight back to Britain,” she said. “I’m driving you to the airport now. Get your bags, you have two minutes.”   
“Yes, mademoiselle.” Owen winked at her, then rushed up the stairs, Curt right behind him.

The flight to London wasn’t as long as the flight from DC had been. Directors Houston and Smith were waiting for them.

“Mega! Thank god you didn’t fuck this up.”

“Lovely to see you too, Cynthia.” Curt smiled at her. “Director Smith.”   
Owen didn’t seem to be as casually familiar with his boss. He handed over the plans they’d stolen to Director Smith. “In and out in ten minutes, one casualty, no alarms raised. I’ll have a full mission report by tomorrow.”

Director Smith nodded. “Good job. You’ll both get a commendation.”   
“Yes, yes, now say your goodbyes. Mega, we’re headed back immediately.” Cynthia started walking towards a waiting jet.

Curt turned to Owen. “You know, I enjoyed working with you, Owen. Here’s to good teamwork.” He stuck his hand out.

Owen shook it. “Good teamwork indeed. Hope to see you around.”

Curt followed Cynthia to the jet.


	4. Owen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is the shortest chapter? But honestly, who knows at this point

Owen wasn’t keen on being left alone with Director Smith. To say they had a bad working relationship was putting it mildly; Owen suspected the man of hating his guts.

“Agent Carvour. Come on, we’re sending you out immediately. You did good work in France, you’re gonna need to go undercover. Probably gonna take a while.” Director Smith started walking towards the MI6 building and his office.

Owen sighed quietly and followed him. “Very well, sir.”

Theoretically, the mission was simple. In practice, Owen suspected, he’d be working for quite a while with no results. It was exactly what Director Smith needed to avoid acknowledging Owen’s commendation after Marseilles.

Owen got a few hours at home to repack his stuff and do his mission report. He had a bit of time left over, so he started writing a letter for Curt; he’d enjoyed the brash American’s company, and well, call him biased.

He was given papers and a place to stay as part of his undercover mission. He looked through it in the cab on the way out; he didn’t like having his car in the area when he was undercover, it was too easy to trace. His name was Jacob Walters, he was from Liverpool — what a terrible accent, honestly — and he was supposedly a used car dealer.

He got himself settled in the flat he was supposed to stay in and went out to talk to his contacts.

It took three days for Owen to be back in Director Smith’s office with a mission report and seven arrests.

“You’ve done good work, Agent Carvour,” Director Smith said, looking over the papers. “Tell me, that Agent Mega you worked with in Marseilles, how did you like him?”

“He’s a good spy.” Owen had no idea what Director Smith was fishing for. “I enjoyed working with him, and I feel we did good work together.”

“Hmm.” Director Smith looked over a few papers. “We agreed. We’re sending you two to work together again. You’re headed to Germany first thing in the morning. Now go home and rest up, you’ve got a long week ahead of you with that bloody American.”

“Very well, sir.” Owen left Director Smith’s office, feeling a little encouraged.


	5. Curt

Curt had been to Germany before, but only in Berlin. This time he was going to Bonn, the Western capital, with Owen and some French agent named Jean.

Owen was waiting for him in the lobby when he got to the hotel. "Hey there old boy." Owen gave him a half hug. "Good to see you again."

"You too, Owen." Curt hugged him back. "You met the Frenchman yet?"

"Not yet, but he's supposed to be here any minute. Come on, let's get you situated, I have all the keys." He put a hand on Curt's back and led him towards the stairs.

Curt dumped his bags on the hotel bed. "So, did you get some rest since last time? I've been across the Atlantic too many times this last week, I'm telling you."

Owen laughed. "I've been working, actually. In London, though, so not too much travelling."

"No rest for the wicked, eh?" Curt patted Owen's shoulder. "Come on, I've been on a jet all night, I need a coffee. And a drink."

"Let's go." Owen scoffed. "You know, it's nine o'clock in the morning, is it really time for a drink?"

"It's always time for a drink." Curt walked to the bar in the hotel lobby. "Want anything?"

"Just coffee, thanks love."

Curt turned and tried to remember enough German to order. "Umm, whiskey?  _ Ein _ … Glass? And, uhh…  _ Zwei _ … Coffee, shit.  _ Danke _ ."

"I speak English," the bartender said, with barely an accent. "Two coffees and a whiskey, yeah?"

"Yeah, thank you." Curt sighed in defeat.

"Hey, Curt." Owen tapped his shoulder. "Just got a note from Director Houston." He handed it over.

_ Agents, _

_ The French have pulled out. We've decided that two can handle it. Don't fuck it up :) _

_ —Cynthia _

"Well then." Curt crumbled up the note and pocketed it. "Looks like it's just you and me." He put a handful of coins on the bar, downed the shot of whiskey, and grabbed the coffees. "We have an hour or two."

"And not much catching up to do." Owen grabbed them a table by the window. "But tell me, have you had time off since last time?"

"A little, yeah."

They talked for about an hour, then headed out to the stakeout they were supposed to be at. Eight hours or so, in complete silence, in a space that was too small for two people. Curt found himself being grateful for the French pulling out of the sting; there was no way they could fit three people in the small alcove they were supposed to be in, he was already sitting shoulder to shoulder with Owen.

“Nothing’s happening.” It had been eight hours, which was how long they’d been told to stay, so Curt felt confident breaking the silence. “There’s been no activity whatsoever.”

“Yeah, looks like it’s a bust.” Owen rolled his shoulders. “Call up Director Houston, we need to reevaluate.”

“Of course.” Curt fiddled a bit with his radio, getting Director Houston on the frequency.

“Mega! Fucked up already?”   
“Ah, he’s here too, but this is Owen,” Owen said before Curt could reply. “Look Cynthia, I think our intel’s wrong, nothing has happened. Your informant’s either lying or bad at his job, dear.”   
Director Houston yelled something incoherent. “Get out of there, both of you.”

“Noted, gotta go.” Curt killed the radio. “Let’s go.”   
“Let’s go.” Owen collected the few things he’d taken out of his pockets and holsters. “Let’s see what we’re up to next.”   
They drove back to the hotel and sat together in Owen's room.

"So." Owen was checking his guns and fixing his magazines while they talked. "Since it looks like we'll be here a while, tell me, you ever go to the cinema?"

"Uh, sometimes." Curt, in the process of disassembling a firearm that had jammed on him earlier, was taken aback by the question. "When I have the time."

"Hmm, yeah. There's this lovely old theatre in Oxford, where I grew up. I'd love to take you there sometime, go see a film together." He winked. "Or just go anywhere, really. You should come visit me in London sometime."

"That sounds very nice." Curt wasn't quite sure where Owen was going with this. He was unused to being flirted with, and not at all prepared to read it as such. They were both professionals; in another situation, a club where he knew no one, he'd be willing to take that gamble, but not at work. Not with someone who could cost him his job. He was sure Owen felt the same, if he was even like that.

Owen had finished cleaning his guns and had holstered them all. He leaned against the foot of the bed. "I might come visit you too, if you'd like. DC looks fun, lots of museums I'd like to see."

"Yeah, uhh…" Curt scrambled a bit for words. "I didn't grow up there, I've only been in DC for a few years. Haven't gone to any museums yet, but it seems nice." He finished reassembling the gun and started checking that everything was working. "You'd be very welcome to come for a visit."

"That's good to hear." Owen held out his hand to Curt. Confused, Curt took it. Owen chuckled. "No, I was just gonna ask you to pass me a cloth." He pointed at the small pile of rags on the floor, not letting go of Curt's hand. "But I can hold your hand too, if you'd like." He raised an eyebrow.

"No, no." Flustered, Curt pulled his hand back and gave Owen one of the rags. "Here you go."

"Thanks, love."

They sat in silence for a while, tending to their equipment. Then Curt's radio crackled to life. "Owen, Mega, we're extracting you both," Director Houston said. "Stay at the hotel, someone will come for you. Separately." The connection died before they had time to respond.

Curt got off the floor. "Guess this is goodbye. I should probably return to my own room, if they're not picking us up together."

"Yeah." Owen stood up as well and held out his hand for Curt to shake. "Take care of yourself out there, alright." He pulled Curt into a hug. "Oh, and Curt? Don't be a stranger."

"Will do." Curt stepped out of the hug as quickly as he could. He was suddenly happy he'd had all day to get comfortable with being close to Owen. "You take care too, Owen."

Curt went back to his own room to await extraction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Done with act I, so to speak; this is a seven-act thing with interludes, so I'll post Interlude I tonight.


	6. Interlude I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a long rehearsal, so this is late but uhh, I have 20 mins before midnight, so it counts as posting today! Interludes are mostly letters, this one is entirely letters, and they're dated so y'all can keep track of a timeline if you care about that sort of thing

_ December 20th, 1950 _

Dear Curt,

Merry Christmas. Hope you get to spend it with your family — I managed to get time off work, but I’ll have to head out before New Year’s.

Well, just wanted to check in. Hope you’re doing alright.

Take care of yourself, alright?

Love,

Owen

_ January 4th, 1951 _

Hey Owen,

Merry Christmas, and happy New Year’s. You said you’d be out, so I don’t know when you’ll get this, but let me know.

I thought about what you said about the cinema. There’s a very nice theater in Georgetown that I’ve been meaning to go to, so we have options if ever you come here.

Stay safe out there. It’d be a shame if I never have an excuse to come to London.

Take care,

Curt

_ February 11th, 1951 _

Dear Curt,

Sorry for the late reply, I’ve been stuck in India for nearly a month. I’ll make sure to get my letters forwarded next time, but I’ll be home for a while.

How have you been? I’m worried you’ll get yourself killed one of these days, you’re not near careful enough, dear. It would be a shame if you never made it over here.

I’ll be here, I’m always careful. Don’t worry about me.

Hopefully I’ll make it to your side of the pond soon, I’ll make sure to let you know.

Love,

Owen

_ February 20th, 1951 _

Hey Owen,

I want you to know that I am careful; haven’t gotten killed yet. But this job has risks, can’t avoid it.

Good to hear you’ll be home for a bit, that’s always nice. I have to leave for Monaco first thing in the morning; this kind of job is never finished. Not that I’m complaining, this is all I’ve ever wanted to do.

Let me know if you’re here. Especially if you’re in DC, I can show you around a bit.

See you soon, hopefully,

Curt

_ February 28th, 1951 _

Dear Curt,

Careful, are you? So I didn’t have to knock out someone to avoid them seeing you in Marseilles?

Well, I have to stay home, my sister’s getting married. I have to walk her down the aisle, can’t miss it.

Which reminds me, I meant to ask; are you married? You never mentioned, so I assumed you weren’t; forgive me if I’m wrong. The majority of my married friends talk about nothing but their wives.

I do hope you don't mind my curiosity. I don't usually talk work with my friends, but very few of my friends understand what I do.

Well, take care out there, Curt.

Love,

Owen

_ March 27th, 1951 _

Hey Owen,

Sorry for the late reply, I had a few holdups at work.

Hope the wedding went well, that sounds lovely. I’m not married, no — with this kind of job it doesn’t make a lot of sense. I assume you aren’t either.

I have some time off, so I’m going to visit my mother for a while. I was thinking of coming to Europe, but Cynthia is keeping me on call, so I need to stay this side of the Atlantic.

I’ve been told that I’m on call for MI6 missions since our successes together, so I’m hoping we get to work together more in the future. Depends on your director, of course.

Take care of yourself out there,

Curt

_ April 7th, 1951 _

Dear Curt,

The wedding was lovely. I wasn’t a fan, she’s only 18, but he’s a good man. And you’re right, marriage in this kind of job is hard.

Visiting your mother sounds lovely. I hope you have a good time out there, Missouri was it?

I haven’t been told anything, but I imagine they’ll keep me on as long as we keep doing good work. I’d enjoy getting to see you a little more, it’s a shame you couldn’t come to visit.

I’m supposed to be in France for the foreseeable future, so any reply might be a little late, but please, don’t let that discourage you from writing.

Take care of yourself. This line of work is a dangerous one.

Love,

Owen

_ April 19th, 1951 _

Hey Owen,

Well, I’m from Missouri, but my mother doesn’t live there anymore, she lives in New York now. Which is nice, it’s not nearly as far away, although she’s pretty far upstate.

I hope they keep putting you on these missions with me, we work well together. And it’s good to work with a friend.

Take care of yourself in France. Wouldn’t want you dying there.

Best,

Curt

_ May 30th, 1951 _

Dear Curt,

I didn’t die in France, so that’s a plus. I did, however, spend several weeks dealing with the French, which is an activity I do not recommend.

I don’t have much time, so forgive me for the relatively short letter. I need to leave immediately.

I hope to see you soon, whether at work or for pleasure.

Love,

Owen

_ June 20th, 1951 _

Hey Owen,

I’m happy to hear you didn’t die in France. Work’s been pretty hectic lately for me too. I’ve been out of the field for a bit; I’m being sent undercover in Russia, I’m leaving in the morning, so I’ve had to learn Russian. Hopefully it’ll be worth it.

I’ve been meaning to ask you, do you celebrate birthdays? I imagine you must’ve turned 20 by now, but I figured I’d ask if congratulations are in order.

I don’t know when I’ll be back from Russia, but I’ll write to you again when I can.

Take care,

Curt

_ July 1st, 1951 _

Dear Curt,

Still nineteen, actually. My birthday’s in August, thanks for asking. When is yours? You’ll be what, 24 next?

Learning Russian? I’ve always just spoken English while undercover, maybe with an accent, it’s worked fine so far. But good on you, that’s impressive. You speak other languages than Russian?

I’ll be in England for the foreseeable future, work is keeping me home for once. If you get out of Russia earlier than anticipated, let me know; might be able to swing by.

I know it’s late, but take care of yourself over there.

Love,

Owen

_ July 31st, 1951 _

Hey Owen,

Oh good. I just got back from Russia, but I don’t have any time to relax. A spy’s work is never finished, after all.

I’ve enclosed a little birthday present. Nothing special, but I figured I would. My birthday’s in October, but I’ve never been big on celebrating it. My mom’s plenty excited for both of us, I think.

Take care,

Curt

_ August 8th, 1951 _

Dear Curt,

Thank you for the present; you needn’t have. But it’s much appreciated nonetheless.

It’s a shame we didn’t have time to see each other. I’m headed to Canada in a few weeks, though, I’ll let you know when I’m done. It might be possible for me to swing by on my way home.

How come you don’t celebrate your birthday? I may just be young, but it seems to me that birthdays are fun events.

Well, my curiosity is getting the better of me, I think. I apologise, I don’t have many people I talk to quite as regularly as you.

Take care of yourself out there, dear. I’ll let you know if I can swing by on my way home from Canada.

Love,

Owen

_ August 28th, 1951 _

Hey Owen,

I’m happy you liked your present.

And don’t worry about your curiosity, I quite enjoy the questions. I don’t have a reason for not celebrating my birthday, I guess I just don’t really care. I don’t mind it.

I’d love if you could come by after Canada. It’s been quite a few months now, and I did promise to take you to that theater in Georgetown.

Have fun in Canada.

See you soon,

Curt


	7. Owen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya boy (me) is tired and has a university degree and musicals to do, so this is late and rushed, but today's two chapters are uhh, the entirety of Act II

Owen managed to bargain for a day in DC after Canada. He sent a letter to Curt a week before he left, with his Canadian return address, just for good measure. Good thing he did; Curt replied a few days later (thank god for not having to send mail across the Atlantic, Owen thought) saying that he was home and more or less off, so Owen could stay with him.

He wanted to take it as a hint, he really did. But he knew a hint when he saw one, and Curt was clearly just a friend offering a guest room.

Owen took a cab to Curt’s flat once he arrived in DC, buying a sandwich on the way in lieu of dinner. Curt apparently saw him from the window; he came down before Owen had a chance to knock.

“Hey, Owen, good to see you.” Curt gave him a half hug. “Need any help?”

“No, it’s fine.” Owen smiled and hugged him back. “Good to see you, old man. How’ve you been?”

“Good, good.” Curt led the way up the stairs. “I have a guest room, it’s a closet really, but there’s a bed. Figured it’s easier than trying to find a hotel.”

“I appreciate it.” Owen took in the flat; a fairly large sitting room, a kitchen, a small-ish bathroom, a nice bedroom, and a closet of a guest room. He put his bag on the bed there — nicely made up, with two towels folded on the pillow, he noted — and joined Curt in the sitting room.

“Do you want anything?” Curt asked. “Coffee, tea, water, beer? I have whiskey, but…”   
Owen laughed. “A whiskey does sound good right about now, though, but if you’re not up for that, I’ll take tea.”   
Curt shrugged. “Eh, what the hell. Whiskey it is.” He grabbed a bottle and two glasses out of a cabinet and poured. “A toast. To friendship.”   
“To friendship.” Owen sank into the couch next to Curt and sipped his whiskey. He was tired, but he wanted to spend time with Curt; that was what he was here for.

Curt sat next to Owen, looking equally tired. “So, tell me about Canada. Anything exciting happen?”

So Owen began talking about what he’d been doing, and then he asked Curt about things, and somehow, a couple of hours sifted away with them just talking. About work, about their families, about travelling, places they’d been and places they wanted to go. Curt was mostly looking at his glass, or around the room, but Owen was steadily watching him. He knew that the chances of Curt being into him were slim to nil, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate this sort of quiet companionship, a nothing.

The conversation trailed off eventually. “It’s almost three,” Curt said, staring at his glass. “We should probably turn in.”

“That might be wise,” Owen agreed. He sighed and got up from the couch. “Thanks for letting me crash, old man. See you tomorrow.”   
“See you tomorrow.” Curt remained sitting when Owen walked into the small guest room and closed the door.

Owen couldn’t sleep. He didn’t hear Curt go to bed, so he wasn’t really surprised when he was still sitting on the couch when Owen eventually got up. It was approaching five in the morning, but Owen went to sit. “Couldn’t sleep?”   
“Didn’t try.” Curt sent him a small, forced smile. Then, in a much smaller, softer voice, “I uhh, I’ve been having nightmares lately. I don’t really sleep much.”

"Yeah." Owen grabbed his glass, still on the table from earlier, and poured himself a drink. "Wanna talk about it?"

"Not really."

They sat together in silence until morning, both of them dozing off, but neither sleeping.

Once they were both feeling rested, they ate breakfast together, and then headed out into the city. Owen convinced Curt to come to a museum with him, then they ate lunch at a small cafe, and then just walked around, talking and looking at monuments.

Closer to dinnertime, Curt found them a cab, which dropped them off in front of a large, elaborate building in what Owen estimated was Gothic style. Not that he was well versed in that sort of thing.

"This is the theatre I mentioned," Curt said. "They mostly show movies now, but it used to be a stage theatre. Come on." He began walking towards the building. "It's one of my favourite places. There are never a lot of people around, there are bigger and more modern movie theatres, but this one is special."

"How come?" Owen was mildly amused and endeared by Curt's excitement. "It's just a theatre."

"It has personality." Curt smiled. "Let me show you."

He led Owen into the theatre and showed him the grand foyer, the old-school ticket booth and entryway, the split staircase that led to opposite sides of the audience. He bought two tickets to a movie that was running, and they spent a few hours in silence. Owen enjoyed it; he didn't go to the cinema often, and Curt's excitement was charming.

After the movie, they grabbed dinner at a street food stand, and then headed back to Curt's for drinks. They were both tired, so they slept fairly early.

Owen had to leave early the next day. He and Curt had breakfast together, and Curt drove him to the airport. They hugged each other goodbye, promising to stay in touch again, then Owen let himself sleep on the plane.


	8. Curt

Owen's visit had been a pleasant surprise, Curt thought to himself as he was driving home from the airport. But something had been off; his cocky confidence was gone, or at least it wasn't as pronounced. And he'd been decidedly less flirtatious; Curt wasn't sure Owen had even intentionally flirted with him, but he'd been entertaining the idea of flirting back. Now, though, it seemed that Owen had lost interest.

Curt's birthday was three weeks later. He came home to find a letter and a package from Owen.

_ Dear Curt _

_ Thank you for letting me stay at your place, that was very considerate of you. I had a good time with you, and I hope there will be many more in the future. _

_ That being said, I am a little disappointed. In myself, not you. I have perhaps misinterpreted some things, but I hope you will forgive me. I am not someone with any reputation, and thus I have none to uphold. I understand you may not be in the same situation, but I hope you'll understand what I mean. I think I cared too much about my reputation during my visit. _

_ Well, happy birthday. I hope it finds you well, even if you are not celebrated. If nothing else, get yourself a drink and pretend it's from me. _

_ That's not to say I haven't sent you anything. I, of course, wanted to return your generosity in any way I could. I noticed that your watch face was cracked, and I know you can likely get a new one from the agency, but I figured it might be nice to have a watch for personal function. Don't bring it to work and break it now, dear. _

_ Well, I don't know when I'll see you again, and I don't know when I'll be able to answer. Work calls. _

_ Take care of yourself out there, Curt. _

_ Love, _

_ Owen _

There was a watch enclosed, a nice one. Curt examined it for a while; he suspected it would cost him a month's pay.

He thought back to his earlier fears regarding Owen's behaviour; completely unfounded, apparently. Curt couldn't always take a hint, but he couldn't possibly read Owen's comments about reputation any other way. And he  _ liked _ Owen, not just in the way he liked his other friends and colleagues, but in the way he liked the men he brought home when he was sure none of his colleagues would know. The combination was unusual for him, but he wasn't opposed.

Curt had the afternoon off with no plans, so he set about sending a reply.

_ Hey Owen, _

_ Your visit was a lovely surprise. I’m hoping I can return it soon, though perhaps not through work — I’ve heard London is a lovely place for a vacation. _

_ Thanks for the watch, it’s very nice. Fits perfectly, too. Can’t imagine where you got something as nice as this, but I appreciate it. _

_ Work always calls, but I actually have the day off. I managed to convince my mom not to come to town, so it’s just me, but I’ll make sure to have a drink for you. _

_ I hope you’ll accept me coming to visit you whenever I can; I’ll make sure to look into visas. _

_ Take care of yourself, _

_ Curt _

He considered making it longer, considered making some reply to Owen’s comments about reputation. But as reckless as Curt might be, he needed to keep his job, and putting any hints in writing was too dangerous. He couldn’t imagine why Owen had dared.

He walked to the mailbox to send the letter immediately, then went to a pub. He spent a few hours there, mostly by himself. A couple women tried to chat him up and he gave in a little and bought drinks, but didn’t engage too much. Most of them seemed disappointed, but he didn’t really care.


	9. Interlude II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More letters! Even Curt is starting with "Dear" now

_ November 3rd, 1951 _

Dear Curt,

I’m happy you liked the watch. I’ll be excited to see you, if ever we can manage.

I’m supposed to be gone for quite a few months — other side of Christmas. Feel free to send letters, I’ll make sure you’ll know if something happens, I don’t want you to worry if I don’t reply.

Well, as I said, it’ll be a while before I can talk to you. Take care of yourself, my dear.

Love,

Owen

_ November 14th, 1951 _

Hey Owen,

That sounds good. I assume you’ve left already, so I don’t know when you’ll get this.

Let me know when you’re home. Good luck on the job; take care of yourself out there. I’ll look into getting over there.

Take care,

Curt

_ February 25th, 1952 _

Dear Curt,

I hope you had a good entrance into the new year. I apologise for not writing sooner, but such is this line of work.

I’ll be home for quite a while; I’m afraid I went and got myself injured. Nothing serious, just a broken leg, but it needs to heal nonetheless. But it means I have time to write.

I didn’t address it last time, and I promise you I won’t address it again, but I stand by what I said in my birthday wishes, regarding reputation. Take it as you wish. I won’t mention it again.

Well. Again, a somewhat belated merry Christmas and happy new year. Take care of yourself out there; as I’ve just proven, this is a dangerous line of work.

Love,

Owen

_ March 11th, 1951 _

Hey Owen,

Good to hear from you again. Sorry about the broken leg; hope you’ll heal up okay.

I unfortunately won’t be able to answer much, going forward; I’m travelling almost non-stop until the other side of the summer, but I’ll make sure to let you know every once in a while.

I’ve looked into when I can come to London; September at the earliest, possibly not even then, we’ll have to see.

Take care of yourself,

Curt

PS: Keep in mind that my mail is occasionally screened.

_ March 30th, 1951 _

Dear Curt,

I’m already doing much better. I do miss running more than I expected, though.

It’s alright, we’ll figure it out. As it’s looking now, I’ll be out of commission until October, what with healing and rehabilitation, so I have time. Take your time.

You take care of yourself too, Curt. Don’t wanna miss out on you coming here.

Love,

Owen

PS: Thanks for the warning

_ April 24th, 1951 _

Dear Owen,

I’m happy to hear you’re recovering. I’ve looked into it, and the easiest time for me to get off and come to London will be in October, during the week of my birthday; I think I’ll enjoy celebrating with you, you can get to buy me a drink yourself this year.

I’ll look more into the logistics, but I can’t be sure I’ll be able to answer until September. I hope you’re healing up okay.

Take care,

Curt

_ May 2nd, 1951 _

Dear Curt,

October sounds wonderful. As it stands now I’ll be back at work mid-October, so it probably fits that you’ll be here on the tail end of my sick leave, which is wonderful. I’ll be recovered enough to do stuff, but no risk of me being pulled into work, unless it’s an international emergency, in which case we both have bigger problems.

I’ll be excited to see you. It’s been a while, this time around.

Take care of yourself out there, Curt. It’s not an easy world we live in.

Love,

Owen

_ August 3rd, 1951 _

Dear Owen,

So sorry for the late reply, as I mentioned, I’ve been travelling a lot.

Sounds good! I’ll get tickets immediately and let you know exactly when I’m landing. It’ll be good to see you.

Hope you’re recovering,

Curt

_ August 15th, 1951 _

Dear Curt,

I’m doing quite alright. I can walk again, so now I’m in rehabilitation to be back in shape for work, which is always important.

Don’t worry about late replies; I know the work, after all. I assume Director Houston will let me know if anything serious happened to you, if nothing else, then as a professional courtesy.

I’ll be excited to see you.

Love,

Owen

_ September 7th, 1951 _

Dear Owen,

I’ll be landing on October 9th, but very late. I’ll be in Heathrow a bit past 11pm, hope that’s not a problem.

I’m excited to see London, I’ve never been. I hope it’s as enjoyable as you’ve made it sound.

I don’t think I’ll be able to manage another answer before I come, so— I’ll see you when I see you.

Take care,

Curt

_ September 29th _

Dear Curt,

I’ll come pick you up! I do hope this letter arrives before you come, but if not, well, nothing to do about that.

I’ll be excited to show you around.

Love,

Owen


	10. Owen

Curt was landing late, much past when the airport cafe closed. Owen decided to spend his waiting time in Soho, going to the kind of bars that men like him went to.

When leaving one of the bars, he saw one of his colleagues coming down one of the opposite streets. Thinking quickly, Owen reached up to the edge of the roof — he was outside what was potentially the only building in London low enough for him to do so — and lifted himself up on top of a window ledge. He was visible, but the shadows would hide his identity from the woman who could recognise him. He silently cursed himself for wearing his standard-issue jacket to Soho, for going to bars like this, for being recognisable in any way. He needed to be more careful if he wanted to keep his job.

He walked through Soho to Heathrow. It was a longer way than necessary, but it meant that, had he been seen, he could say he'd been looking for a friend who'd come in. He always had to be careful.

Curt was smiling when he saw Owen, and pulled him into a hug. "Owen Carvour."

"Good to see you, Curt." Owen stepped back. "20's treating you well."

He laughed. "I could say the same for you. How’s your leg?"

Owen shook his head. "Doing quite fine, I’ll be back at work next week. Come on, I don't have a car, but it's not far." He led Curt out of the airport and back to his flat. They didn't speak much; Owen, normally full of things he wanted to say, felt most of it get stuck in his throat. He told himself that it was just because they were in public.

Once they were back at the apartment, Owen showed Curt the guest room and the shower. He offered him a drink, but they ended up just going to bed.

The next morning wasn't much better. Whether it was because he was legitimately interested in Curt or because of his close call the night before, Owen found himself unable to flirt and hint as much as he used to. And he didn't pick up on any response from Curt.

They went out after breakfast. Owen had promised to show Curt around London, and things did loosen up a little as they walked around. Conversation was easier, but flirting sure wasn’t. Either way, he did get to spend a day with Curt, and they did have fun.

They ate lunch in Covent Garden. Owen bought them both stuff from a street food vendor, and then pulled Curt to the edge of the plaza to sit on the steps. “This is the best place in London to get food, I promise you.”

Curt looked sceptically at the mess of vegetables and noodles in front of him. “And how am I supposed to eat this?” He gestured a bit with his chopsticks.

Owen laughed at him. “Here, let me show you.” He demonstrated to Curt how to hold his chopsticks and how to get food on them. He wasn’t gonna pretend like half-holding Curt’s hand while demonstrating wasn’t making him feel things, but he also didn’t let it show.

After lunch, Owen showed Curt through the West End and somehow ended up in Piccadilly. They might have been circling a bit, but Curt didn’t seem to mind, excitedly looking about and listening intently to all of Owen’s little anecdotes. It was charming, in its own way.

They ended up going back to Owen’s flat to cook dinner. Once in private, Owen loosened up a little, but he still wasn’t flirting, not past a few hip checks whenever Curt got in his way in the very small kitchen. And that hardly counted.

Curt wasn’t reciprocating, either. He did smile whenever Owen bumped into him, but he also offered to leave the kitchen; Owen had to tell him to stay and that it was fine, he wanted the company.

Dinner was a quiet affair, just the two of them at the small table in Owen’s living room. They went to bed fairly early, but Owen counted his blessings when Curt hugged him goodnight.


	11. Curt

His second day in London was his birthday. Curt was awake before Owen, so he made himself some coffee and sat on the couch to wait.

Owen came into the living room after about half an hour. He grinned at Curt. “Good morning. Didn’t hear you get up, sorry.”

“No worries.” Curt smiled slightly at him. “How did you sleep?”   
“Alright. Is there more coffee?”

“Yeah, but it’s probably cold.”   
“That’s fine.” Owen shrugged and headed into the kitchen. He came back a few moments later with a mug. “Happy birthday, by the way, my dear.”   
“Thanks.” Curt smiled a little.

“How old are you now, 24?” Owen sat next to Curt and pulled his legs up under himself. He looked very young like that, Curt noted, cross-legged with a mug in hand, half-dressed and his hair a mess.

“I’m 25.” Curt put down his mostly empty mug of coffee. “Not that I feel it.”

Owen barked a laugh. “Yeah, I know what you mean, I swear I’m still 19.”   
“You look like you did at 19.” It was true; Curt didn’t feel like he looked much older either, but Owen was positively a mirror image of himself two years prior.

“Yeah, well, you look like you did at 23.” Owen downed his coffee. “I figured we’d go out for breakfast. There’s a good place in Soho, if you don’t mind?”   
“Why would I mind?” Curt had no idea what Soho was. “Is it far?”   
“Not particularly.” Owen smiled, slightly off, and stood up. “Time to get dressed, love, I’m hungry.”   
“Sure.” Curt got up as well and headed to the guest room to get properly dressed.

The walk to Soho was longer than Curt had expected, but the weather was surprisingly pleasant for October, and he didn’t really mind. Owen seemed to have relaxed significantly, though Curt wasn’t sure why. He himself was still awkward and felt words get stuck in his throat, gestures cut off abruptly. Although he had gotten used to being slightly too careless with Owen in their letters, it didn’t translate. Curt never would’ve believed that writing would be easier for him than speaking, but with Owen, it was.

“Here we are.” Owen steered them into a small cafe, slightly off a thoroughfare. “I’ll be honest, it’s a really bad dinner restaurant, but you can’t get beans on toast like this anywhere else.”

“Beans on toast?” Curt raised an eyebrow, but let Owen steer him to a table.

“Oh Curt, don’t tell me you haven’t had beans on toast before.” Owen buried his face in his hands. “It’s very good. And the continental isn’t half bad, but a bit of advice; stay away from the grapes.”   
“I’ll take your word for it.”

They ordered and ate between random smalltalk. Not much about work, just generic stuff. Owen talked about his sister, Curt talked about his mother, and neither of them really mentioned other family. Owen paid for both of them and tried to play it off as nothing, but Curt suspected it was a very intentional move. He didn’t bring it up, though; didn’t know how.

They had a late lunch in Owen’s apartment, then went for a small walk around the area. Not much to see where Owen lived, but it was fairly close to most central places.

After a quick dinner at a street food vendor, which Curt managed to wrangle paying for himself, they headed to a pub.

Two beers in and Curt loosened up a little, but so did all the women in the pub, and it was such a habit for him to humour them just a little, to look like he was interested at first and then pull back later, so he didn’t talk as much to Owen as he would’ve liked. Owen watched him, slightly fascinated, occasionally making snide remarks about the women chatting him up or saving him from someone particularly clingy. He didn’t seem to chat up anyone, or be chatted up, just content to hang back and exchange jokes with Curt or with the bartender.

“Sorry about not talking to you more,” Curt said as they were headed home. “I don’t really… I feel bad about saying no.”   
“Don’t worry about it.” Owen smiled. “I enjoyed it. Didn’t seem like you were interested though.”

“I’m not really. Not here, at least.” The last was a hasty and probably unnecessary addition.

“Well, I hope you had a good night, at least.”   
“I did.” Curt put an arm around Owen for half a second. “Mostly thanks to you.”   
“Oh sure.”

They walked the rest of the way in silence, but it wasn’t exactly awkward.

Curt had to leave the next morning. He said goodbye to Owen at his apartment and walked himself to the airport.


	12. Owen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: this chapter contains one of my favourite lines I've ever written

Three weeks after Curt had left, Owen was still turning over the weekend in his mind whenever he had a moment. Curt had been friendly and forthcoming, but decidedly not flirtatious. He hadn't outright rebuffed Owen at any point, but he also hadn't invited anything further. And then there were the girls at the pub who he was clearly not interested in, but had given a chance in a way that Owen never bothered to.

Curt was infuriatingly reckless and American and cared too much about his reputation, but Owen was quite sure he wasn't into women, at least not exclusively. And sure, he might just be oblivious to many of Owen's hints and the many hints he left back. Owen wouldn't be surprised; Curt was startlingly unobservant for a spy. And he might be uninterested, but if that was the case, Owen suspected he'd be out of a job; Curt sure had enough for him to be fired, and he knew he didn't have the same evidence on Curt, even if he did occasionally leave what could be hints in writing.

On a day off, Owen sat down to write a letter to Curt, spelling out everything. His feelings and attractions, his thoughts, what he'd picked up on from Curt, and what he hoped it might mean. It ended up being nearly three pages; an awful waste of paper, really, he thought as he watched it burn.

By the end of week four, Owen was forced to forget about Curt; he was sent to Grand Columbia on a mission. He was told that the Americans might have people working the job, but no further details. He didn't think much of it; it wouldn't be the first time he ran into a foreign agent on a job.

What he hadn't expected was sneaking through a compound and then hearing the telltale sounds of torture. He decided to get a closer look and see who they were torturing and why. As he got closer, he could hear voices; English, but with a heavy Hispanic accent. Then an American, oddly familiar. As he carefully looked through a crack in the door, he saw Curt Mega, half dead and tied to a chair.

Owen cursed silently. He'd have to get him out of there; he'd retrieved what he needed already, and he had no further orders.

There were no one else within earshot. Two well placed shots took out the two torturers, then a lifetime of carrying around his younger sister and wood for the fireplace came in handy as he hoisted an unconscious Curt up on his shoulders.

Getting out while carrying Curt was a whole heck of a lot harder than getting in alone was, but Owen managed. He had to.

Once back at the hotel, he carried Curt to his own room and put him gently down on the bed. It was the middle of the night, so there was no staff around, fortunately; otherwise, carrying a half dead man to his room would've raised some questions.

"Curt?" Owen gently began cleaning out and wrapping up his wounds as he spoke. "Curt, my dear, I think you need to wake up."

Curt blinked a few times. "Owen?"

"Yes. Hello old man." Owen smiled a little and grabbed some water. "Here you go." He held the glass as Curt drank.

"Thank you. What happened?"

"You got caught." Owen finished the bandages and looked it over. It wasn't good, but it would do. "You're lucky I was the one who found you, any other agent would've let you die."

Curt smiled. "I'm happy it was you." He tried to move, but Owen stilled him.

"Stay still. What's your full name?"

"Curtis Mega."

"And how old are you?"

Curt laughed. "I'm 25, you were there for my birthday. I was there. You were with me."

"I was." Curt didn't seem entirely there, but his faculties were mostly alright. "Which country are we in?"

"Assuming we haven't left while I was out, Grand Columbia."

"Exactly." Owen relaxed. "I think you might've gotten a concussion, but you should be alright. Drink some more water before you sleep and you should be much better by morning." He held up the glass to Curt's mouth again.

"Thanks Owen." Curt’s eyes were half closed. “Thanks a lot.”   
“Don’t worry about it. Go to sleep.”

Owen sat up and slept, but he mostly watched Curt to make sure nothing went wrong. Not much sleep for him, but he didn’t need it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next fun fact: I decided to bank on Grand Colombia still being a thing in 1953 without googling, I'm sorry if it wasn't, pretend it just says Colombia if I'm wrong


	13. Curt

Curt had been sneaking through a compound in Grand Columbia when his memory suddenly blanked out. The next thing that happened was that he blinked awake in an unfamiliar hotel room with a pounding headache and a half-asleep man next to him on the bed. Both Curt and the other man were fully dressed, and the other man was sitting up, and then Curt took a proper look at him and realised that it was Owen Carvour.

Owen looked at him. “Good morning my dear. How are you feeling?”   
“Headache.” Curt’s voice was croaky and barely there. “What?”

Owen got up and gave him some water. He steadied Curt’s hand with his own. “I was sneaking around in that compound and suddenly saw you being tortured. Couldn’t just leave you. We should probably both check in with our agencies.” He put the water down. “Do you need more?”   
“No, it’s alright.” Curt pushed himself into a sitting position. “Do I have a radio?”

“No, but I’ll tell Director Smith to contact Director Houston, don’t worry. Do you want breakfast?”

“Maybe later. Thanks, Owen.” Curt smiled. He was still groggy and a little confused, but he appreciated Owen and what he was doing.

“Sure.” Owen grabbed his radio and turned it on. He chatted quickly with Director Smith, then with Director Houston.

Curt considered insisting on talking to her himself, but he didn’t have the energy, and she’d call if she needed him. “Owen? I think breakfast might be good right about now.”   
“Sure, what do you want?” Owen patted his pockets. “Not that I have any money right now, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

“Just some bread, I think, I’m still a little out of it.” Curt pushed himself to a sitting position. “I should be okay after some food and a shower.”   
“That can be arranged.” Owen called the reception and ordered them some food to be brought up. Curt found a dollar bill crumbled in his jacket pocket, which they used as a tip.

After eating, Curt went to take a shower and looked over his injuries. It was a lot worse than he’d thought, which explained a lot of Owen’s behaviour; he was being careful, nowhere near as cocksure as he normally was.

After his shower, Curt called Director Houston. “Mega! What happened to you?”   
“I’m not sure, Cynthia, my memory’s a little wobbly. According to Owen I was being tortured. He did take out both the guys in the room, so presumably nothing has been compromised. Owen got me out of there and got me patched up, I’m with him at a hotel now. I’m a little battered but I feel fine.”

Cynthia scoffed. “I’m sure you do. Listen up, fuckface, you get some rest. Owen! Can he hear me?”   
“Right here, Cynthia.” Owen was smiling a little at the radio.   
“Thank God. Owen, make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid if you can.”   
“Don’t worry my dear, I’ll keep him out of trouble, I don’t have to leave until tomorrow.” He stepped away.

“Good. Mega, rest up, get better. You’re no use to anyone dead.” Director Houston killed the connection.

Curt sat back down on the edge of the bed. “Thank God.”

Owen chuckled and sat next to him. “No need to stress. It’s only just noon, you can sleep if you want.”   
“Actually I think I want some air.” Curt stood up and evaluated. He still had a headache, but he didn’t get dizzy. “Yeah, air sounds good.”

“Alright.” Owen stood up and accompanied him out the door.

Curt held himself together fairly well for the rest of the day. He was shaken and his head pounded, but while Owen still acted concerned and soft, he didn’t seem to notice how bad Curt was really feeling.

They both had dinner in the hotel’s restaurant, and then went back up to the room. They were still sharing; there were no more free rooms in the hotel, and although there were other hotels, Curt wasn’t much for being too far away from Owen just then. Just a safety measure, he told himself, knowing it was not the entire truth.

When they got back up, Curt sat down on the floor and leaned against the wall. “I need a drink,” he said. “This has been a long day.”

“I’m sure yesterday was longer.” Owen looked through his bag. “Here.” He handed Curt a flask of liquor. “Save some for me.”


	14. Owen

Curt was sitting on the floor of the hotel room, drinking from Owen’s flask and looking very tired. He was still bruised and battered from the day before, and he looked like the drink was needed. He’d been holding himself together alright, though.

Owen drank as well, he had a second flask hidden away. Just in case, he’d told himself. They both got heavily intoxicated, and Owen loosened up a little. He wasn’t sure if it was his own inhibitions being gone, or the knowledge that Curt would chalk it up to that, but he found himself suddenly able to flirt at him again. He sat too close, made bad suggestions, shared what was in their flasks, made too much eye contact.

He wasn’t expecting Curt to reciprocate. He moved too close, and Curt put an arm around him. He reached for the flask, and Curt held it so that he couldn’t avoid touching his hands. He winked, and Curt winked back. He made an innuendo, and Curt built on it. Over and over.

“This flask is empty.” Curt looked into it sadly. “What about yours?” He reached for the flask Owen was holding, locking their fingers together, and Owen’s self control, by then already hanging by a thread, disappeared.

He reached out to put a hand behind Curt’s neck and pulled him in to kiss him. It was sloppy and too quick, Curt clearly hadn’t been expecting it, but he wasn’t pushing Owen away, and Owen was so happy he finally got to do this. Even if it was just once.

He pulled back. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have done that, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—” He was interrupted by Curt pulling him into another kiss. A little slower, a little less sloppy, a little more controlled, a lot better. 

Somehow Owen ended up sitting on the floor of the hotel room with his back firmly against the wall and Curt straddling him while they kissed. They didn’t really talk, at least not for a few minutes. Owen had his arms around Curt and was savouring every moment of it. He knew he’d likely never get to do it again.

He did pull back, though, when Curt began tugging at the edge of his trousers. “No love.” Owen caught his hands, interlacing their fingers. “We’re both too drunk.”   
“Sorry.” Curt leaned in to kiss him again. “Sorry.”   
“Don’t apologise.” Owen let go of Curt’s hands to hold his face. “Don’t. It’s fine. We’re just too drunk.” He kissed him again, too quickly. “And you’re still injured, I can’t really take risks, I promised Director Houston to take care of you, after all.” He smiled.

Curt rolled his eyes. “I’m sure this isn’t what she meant.” He leaned away a little, still with his hands on Owen’s hips. “That can’t possibly be comfortable for you.”   
“I’m fine.” Owen smiled a little at the eyeroll. “Floor’s carpeted.”   
“Aha. Well, I’ve had my knees on it for too long. Come on.” Curt got up and reached his hand out to Owen. “There’s a bed right there.”   
“Well, that much is true.” Owen took Curt’s hand and got up. “It might be more comfortable.”   
Curt pulled Owen close to him and kissed him again, still standing. “I promise you, it is.”

Owen had his back to the bed. He was intoxicated, but not exceptionally so, and he was strong enough to carry Curt. Which meant that he was strong enough to lean back with both hands on Curt’s back and fall onto the bed, Curt on top of him, without either of them getting hurt.

He was slightly wrong; Curt elbowed him in the ribs. But it would barely leave a bruise, and it was worth it for Curt’s surprise and then delighted laughter. “Wasn’t expecting that,” he said.

“No, I figured.” Owen planted a kiss on Curt’s cheek. “We should probably sleep, my dear, you especially.”

“I know, I know.” Curt rolled off of Owen and pulled him into a hug again. “Goodnight.”   
“Goodnight.” Owen pulled Curt in for another kiss, short, sweet. Curt smiled and closed his eyes.

Owen slept better that night, in Curt’s arms, than he had for a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate chapter title: FUCKING FINALLY anyway, this is not a slow burn bc they kissed in chapter 14/36, which is less than halfway through, so it counts as not slow burn


	15. Curt

Curt woke up, and there was someone else in the bed. That someone was Owen, and he was loosely curled up next to Curt, and Curt still had half an arm around him. He opened his eyes and looked down at Owen, peaceful and asleep. For a moment, he enjoyed it. Then he remembered everything else and carefully pulled his arm away. They’d kissed, but he knew it had been the last time; neither of them could afford that kind of risk.

Owen blinked awake and smiled at Curt. Then he sat up and scooted away. “Sorry. Sorry, I should’ve slept on the floor, I should’ve… I shouldn’t have kissed you, I’m sorry.” He was averting his eyes.

“It’s fine.” Curt closed his eyes.

“No, Curt, it isn’t.” Owen spoke softly, still looking at his own hands. “I put both of us at risk, our jobs, our lives. You were drunk, and I shouldn’t have taken advantage of that. I’m sorry. I hope you can let it pass, I promise it won’t happen again.”

“Hey.” Curt sat out and reached out to Owen. He hesitated a moment, then put a hand on his shoulder instead of his cheek. “I’m serious, don’t worry about it. It’s fine.”

“Curt.” Owen brushed his hand away. “Don’t.”

Curt sighed. Then he scooted himself a little closer to Owen, reached out for his face, and pulled him in for a kiss. Owen was evidently surprised, but not unresponsive; he reached up to hold Curt’s shoulders.

“Seriously, don’t worry about it,” Curt whispered when he pulled away. “I’m happy you did. I…” He steeled himself; there was no way this wasn’t gonna hurt someone’s feelings. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while, and never wanting to. I love my job, and I didn’t want to jeopardize it, so I never did. But you… I’m happy you did, Owen. You’re a good friend, but I’m not gonna pretend that’s all you’ve been, to me. I keep meaning to tell you, and then I don’t. And it’s not because I have doubts, I want this, I want you, but I also want to keep my job. I want to keep my mom. I want to keep my friends. And I can’t—” Curt got choked up, and Owen was still just watching him, waiting for him to finish. “I can’t risk that. I’m sorry. I wish I could, I wish we could do this again, but I don’t— I can’t.”

“I understand.” Owen let go of Curt’s shoulders and brushed his hand away. “It’s not what I had hoped for, but I understand.” He got up and grabbed his jacket. Curt watched him with a sinking stomach; he’d ruined it, he suspected.

“Owen, I really am sorry.”   
“I know.” Owen still wasn’t looking at him. “I know. I don’t blame you, you’re a lot smarter than I am. Hell, if it weren’t for your caution we’d both be out of a job.”

Curt got up and started collecting his own things. “Still, I’m sorry. For leading you on.”   
“I’m sorry you felt it necessary.” Owen finally looked at him and smiled, but it was a sad smile, and his eyes were distant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd apologise, but plot requires conflict


	16. Owen

Curt didn’t want him. He’d suspected at much, had known it was the last time, but he hadn’t quite crushed his hopes, and then Curt had kissed him again, in the morning, when they were sober and he’d gotten his hopes back up. And now they were saying goodbye and not touching.

“Stay in touch, eh?” Curt smiled slightly. 

“I’ll do my best.” Owen forced a smile in return. He didn’t really want to, didn’t know what he would say, but he’d promise anything. “I’ll see you around, Curt.”   
“See you.” Curt pulled him in for a hug, and Owen returned it, stiff as a board.

“Take care of yourself.” Owen forced a smile, a little easier now. “Stay out of trouble.”   
“Oh you know I won’t.” Curt smiled and winked.

“Of course. Goodbye Curt.” Owen left without really looking at him.

He went directly to Director Smith when he came back to England to do his mission report and get a new assignment. He flew to Japan and did his job as best as he could, not thinking about Curt Mega.

And he managed not to think about Curt for about six days. Then he got sent on a new mission, in Glasgow, with none other than the infuriating American himself.

Curt arrived in London, and they had to drive to Glasgow together. Owen drove; Curt wasn’t a fan of the reverse driving.

“Owen?” They’d been sitting in silence for about an hour.

“What’s up?” Owen didn’t wanna talk to Curt, but he wasn’t gonna let on just yet. He was a professional.

Curt sighed. “You’ve been quiet. Anything wrong?”

“Nothing at all.” Owen was fully aware that his voice didn’t match his words. “I’m a little tired, I’ve been in Japan all week.” Not untrue. Not the reason, but he was tired.

“Japan, huh? What were you doing there? Not that you can tell me, I assume.”

“Exactly.” Owen actually did manage a chuckle at that, one that wasn’t entirely forced. “But I didn’t do much, really. So much of this job is just sitting.”

“It sure is.” Curt fell silent after that, for which Owen was grateful.

They had a few more moments of smalltalk, but mostly, the drive was quiet. They stopped just once, to eat and stretch their legs; Owen was grateful that they were sleeping as soon as they arrived; he drove the entire way.

They checked into a hotel, bid each other goodnight, and went to their separate rooms. Owen sat up for a moment, writing letters. His sister Leela hadn’t heard from him in a while.

After about 30 minutes, there was a knock on his door. He opened to see Curt, of all people, holding what appeared to be a bottle of red wine, smiling sheepishly.

“What do you want?”

“To talk. May I come in?”

Owen sighed, but stepped aside to let Curt in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if you could get to Glasgow via the M6 in 1953, but I do not care, it was a thing that was roughly a day's drive from London ok


	17. Curt

Owen hadn’t talked much during the drive up, and even their goodnight was short and impersonal. Curt had known it would be awkward, but he’d hoped for better.

Eventually he decided that he was being stupid. He wanted to keep his job, sure, but they were both smart. Both careful. They could manage.

He went to the hotel reception to get a bottle of wine, then went to knock on Owen’s door.

“What do you want?” Owen did not look pleased to see him.

Curt smiled. “To talk. May I come in?”

Owen sighed, but stepped aside. Curt hadn’t really planned this far, but he placed the wine on the table and looked at Owen.

“Curt… What are you doing here?”

“I owe you an apology.” Curt took half a step closer, still remaining a foot and a half away. “I said some things last week, and I’ve… Well.”   
“Curt, don’t.” Owen held up a hand. “It’s fine. Thanks for the wine, but if this is just you trying to apologise for being smart, I don’t want to hear it.”

“That’s not what I’m apologising for.”

“What then?” Owen sat on the edge of the bed and looked up at Curt. “What did you do?”

“What I said last week was stupid. I want you, as a friend, as… As a lover. I don’t know how it’s gonna work, but I’m Curt Mega, I’ll figure it out. It was stupid because I’m not risking anything by being with you. We’re two of the world’s greatest spies, I’m sure we can avoid detection.” He stepped closer and reached for Owen’s hand. “I know I hurt you last week, but I hope you can forgive me now.”   
“Curt…” Owen was looking at him, face unreadable. “Don’t do me any favours.” He locked their fingers together. “You were right, this is dangerous, we both stand to lose a lot. Think it through.” He stepped away, letting go of Curt’s hand. “But think it through here, now you brought the wine.” He smiled a little, and Curt relaxed.

Owen poured them both wine, and they sat, Owen on the bed, and Curt on the desk chair. “I did think it through,” Curt said. “Cheers.”

“Cheers, love.” Owen downed half his wine in one go. “Couldn’t you have thought of this earlier? That was a very long drive.”   
“It was.” Curt downed his own wine and moved to sit next to Owen. “I mean it. It’s fine.”

Owen raised an eyebrow and finished his wine. “May I kiss you?”

Curt shrugged. “Sure. If you want.”

Owen leaned in to kiss him, very quickly. “And you’re sure? I don’t want to force you, don’t feel sorry for me, I’ll be fine, I—”

Curt interrupted him by kissing him again. “Owen Carvour. I want you. Don’t ruin it.”

“Right.” Owen held out his arms. “I’m not gonna twist my back this much to kiss you, come on.” He sat back against the headboard.

Curt followed, kneeling in front of him to kiss him again. This time, Owen didn’t stop him when he reached for his belt.


	18. Owen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya boi (me) deserved some self-indulgent fluff

Waking up next to Curt Mega was the best thing that had happened to Owen in a while. He reached out to brush his fingers over his cheekbone, and then leaned over to kiss him lightly. “Good morning, love,” he whispered.

“Good morning.” Curt still had his eyes closed, but he was smiling. “What time is it?”   
“Early enough for you to stay in bed.” Owen smiled a little and sat up. “I’m gonna take a shower.”

“No.” Curt grabbed him arm and pulled him back down. “Stay here. Just a little bit.”   
“Curt…” Owen gave in and wrapped his arms around Curt. “Alright, then, love. Just for a little bit.” He planted a kiss on Curt’s forehead and stayed wrapped around him for much longer than intended.

Eventually, they both got up and got ready, though Owen did skip his shower in favour of kissing Curt again.

Work was boring, and done faster than expected. Curt smiled at Owen when they came out.

“That was quick,” Owen remarked. “And you can drop that smug grin, who almost blew our cover?”   
“I did.” Curt kept smiling. “It was quick. That’s what happens when you’re the best.”

Owen rolled his eyes at him. “Come on, we need to report back, there’s work to be done.”

“Work can wait half an hour.” Curt looked around; they were in a thoroughfare in an industrial neighbourhood, but there were no people around, and all the nearby factories were closed. He reached out to take Owen’s hand. “Come on, we don’t know when we’ll see each other again.”

He pulled Owen into an alleyway, and Owen let him. “This is stupid,” he said. “You’re stupid. Someone could come walking by at literally any moment and then—” He was interrupted by Curt pushing him up against a wall and kissing him.

“No one can see us from the street, and we can hear if someone turns into the alley.” Curt still had Owen pinned to the wall. “So unless you have any objections.”

Owen melted. Curt was right, they were out of view. And Curt was always more careful with those sorts of things, so Owen was willing to trust him. “The only objection I have is that you’re not kissing me right now,” he whispered. He barely had time to finish his sentence before Curt’s lips were back on his.

It didn’t develop at all; they were still in public, and had to be able to break apart the second someone walked in. So they just kissed, calmly, slowly, sweetly. Owen wouldn’t have it any other way.

Eventually, he broke the kiss for more than a second. They were both breathing heavily at that point. “Curt, love, we really need to get back to work.”   
“I know.” Curt kissed him one last time, then stepped away and let his arms drop. “This was fun, though, I’d love to do it again sometime.”   
“Me too.” Owen grinned at him. “Come on, duty calls.” He smoothed back his hair and gestured for Curt to follow him.

Once they’d reported back, it was time to say goodbye. Curt was flying back from Glasgow, Owen had to stay another night before driving back to London.

Curt came to Owen’s hotel room. “It’s time for me to go.” He closed the door behind him. “Thought I’d say a proper goodbye.”   
“Of course.” Owen smiled and gave him a hug. “Stay in touch, love. Take care of yourself.”   
“I’ll do my best.” Curt kissed him. “You too. Don’t you dare die on me, not now.”

“Of course not.” Owen pulled him down for one more short kiss then stepped out of his embrace. “Goodbye Curt.”   
“Goodbye Owen.” Curt left, and Owen felt a little worse, but a lot better, too. 


	19. Interlude III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to formally apologise for having no idea what spies do

_ January 14th, 1953 _

**Mission Report: Agent Curtis Mega**

Two days wait for an opportunity. Met Agent Owen Carvour, MI6, after a day, on the same mission. Took shifts overnight. Breached facility with the help of Agent Carvour. Retrieved documents. Some issues getting out; several deaths. No witnesses.

_ March 2nd, 1953 _

**Mission Report: Agent Curtis Mega**

Went undercover. Was found out by Agent Owen Carvour, MI6, working a different mission, also undercover, in the same area. Linked up to strengthen each other’s covers. Took a few days, but were eventually able to complete both missions simultaneously, as we had the same POI. No hitches, save the time sink.

_ April 19th, 1953 _

**Mission Report: Agent Owen Carvour**

Arrived in Germany with Agent Curt Mega, ASS. Went straight to the facility in question. Set up a stakeout to take shifts. A total of four days was spent observing and drafting a plan. Facility breached on the fourth night. Weapons retrieved. No deaths. Both agents successfully avoided detection. Weapons placed in American custody.


	20. Curt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boys in love are good

It had been a fair few months, but as the day of Owen’s next visit arrived, Curt found himself fretting around his apartment, hours before he needed to leave for the airport. He had prepared some food the day before that he could easily make once Owen arrived. He’d moved since last Owen had been there and no longer had a guest room, but well, that was only a bonus, and it wouldn’t be the first time they’d shared a bed. Which was why Curt didn’t understand where all his nervous energy came from; they’d seen each other several times since starting a relationship, and it had always been good. There was no reason to be nervous now, just because it was a real visit, and not just meeting up for work.

He calmed down when he saw Owen in the airport. “Hey there old man.” Curt smiled and hugged him.

“Hi Curt.” Owen hugged him back. “How have you been?”

“Good. Come on, did you have lunch yet?”   
“I ate on the plane.” Owen hoisted up his bag and followed Curt out. They didn’t really talk more until they were in the car. “I’ve missed you, love,” Owen said, softly, once the doors were shut.

Curt smiled at him. “I’ve missed you too. But I always do.” He wasn’t used to words, but although the car afforded relative privacy, he couldn’t kiss Owen until they were back in his apartment, and even then, they’d have to be careful. They could, however, speak freely.

He had his eyes on the road, but he had the distinct sense that Owen was smirking at him. “You know,” Owen said, “I miss your letters. I know we haven’t had much time, and we’ve seen each other a lot the past few months, but you never have time to talk.”   
Curt was almost entirely certain that Owen was being coy. He wasn’t about to let him. “Well, we have time to talk now. Do you have anything to say, my dear?” The pet name was forced and sounded wrong to his own ears, but he enjoyed the moments-too-long silence he got from Owen as a result.

“I’m afraid I’ve just missed you.” They were out on the main road now, so Curt had his hand resting on the gear shift, though he didn’t need to use it. Owen put his hand lightly over Curt’s, who smiled at the road.

They small talked a bit in the car, mostly just catching up. Neither of them had much family, or much contact with the family they had, and they mostly kept each other updated through letters, but it was nice just to talk.

Curt had prepared to cook dinner before leaving; Owen had landed in the early afternoon, but traffic was hell, and Curt didn’t quite live close to the airport, so by the time they came back, it was about time to start cooking.

Owen leaned against the doorframe as Curt cooked. He’d asked if he should help, but Curt had told him to just stay out of the way; it was a small kitchen, so trying to fit two people into the workspace did not work, Curt had realised when he’d tried to cook with his mother when she visited him. They were flirting, but not much; Curt’s kitchen faced the street and had large windows, interacting was a dangerous activity. They hadn’t even kissed yet.

They ate dinner in the living room, with the curtains drawn, but although he wanted to kiss Owen, Curt had gotten strangely fond of their return to careful flirting, so he didn’t. He just put food in front of him and smiled. “Hope you like it.”

Owen smiled back. “I’m sure I will.”


	21. Owen

Curt hadn’t kissed him yet, which Owen was slightly surprised by — he was normally quick on that — but he didn’t really mind. Curt’s coyness was infuriating, not because Owen missed the attention, but because Curt managed to so obviously ask for it while still maintaining plausible deniability.

But Owen was always willing to wait; he wouldn’t call himself a man of many virtues, but he was patient. And that also meant he was willing to let Curt make the first move.

Or at least willing to try to outwait him. Once they were done eating, Owen threw a glance around the room. He’d had a tour earlier, and had thought to mention it then, but well; he was getting impatient now. “Do you expect me to sleep on the couch all week? There’s no guest room, after all,” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Curt flushed a little, which was nice. “I have a double bed,” he muttered, not quite meeting Owen’s eyes.

That was all it took. Damn this reckless American, Owen was too easy. “I know, I just wanted you to say it. You haven’t even kissed me, I was worried I did something wrong.” He hadn’t really been  _ worried _ per se, but the thought had crossed his mind. “I’ve missed you, I know it’s only been a month, but we didn’t have time, then, not alone. I love you, flirting is fun, but I don’t want to keep it just flirting.”

“I know.” Curt’s face was scarlet, and he wasn’t quite meeting Owen’s eyes, but he was smiling, pleased. “I love you too.” He was almost whispering, but there was an earnest vulnerability in his voice, and his eyes flickered up to meet Owen’s.

Owen smiled. “You know, it’s nice like this. Have we ever been on a date?”

“I don’t think so.” Curt smiled slightly. “You’re right, it’s nice.”

“It is.” Owen reached over the table to take his hand. “I wish… It’s stupid, I know, but I wish we could do this more. Normal. I know we can’t exactly have a relationship, but well. One can wish.” He smiled a little. “I love you.”

Curt was smiling and evidently self-conscious. “I love you too.” He looked at their hands. “You haven’t said that before.”   
“I haven’t? I must have. I know I’ve thought it a million times.” Owen squeezed Curt’s hand. “Well, now I have. I love you.”

Curt looked up at him for a few seconds. Then he got out of his chair and walked over to Owen instead. “I love you.” He leaned in for a kiss.

Owen let go of Curt’s hand to wrap his arms around his neck instead, pulling himself up to stand. “I’ve been waiting for this,” he breathed when they finally broke the kiss.


	22. Curt

Owen kept talking, and Curt knew he could never match his words. So he got up and kissed him instead.

He smiled into the kiss when Owen pulled himself up to standing. He wrapped both arms around his back, holding him close.

Curt broke the kiss, but Owen was the one to speak. “I’ve been waiting for this,” he breathed, half laughing.

“Yeah. Me too.” Curt kissed him again. He didn’t know what to say, but this was good enough.

They kissed for a while, still standing. Curt wanted to forget, for a moment, that their time together was limited; he took his time, just slowly kissing. He wanted more, but they had all week. Time.

Owen broke away after a few minutes. “Curt.” He laughed. “Curt, wait a moment.”   
“Alright.” He pouted a bit. “Something wrong?” Despite Owen having just told him what he wanted, as soon as he hesitated, Curt worried that he’d gone too far.

“Not at all.” Owen smiled. “Not at all, this… This is amazing. I just wanted to check in. What I said earlier… Do you mind?”

“Of course not.” Curt smiled a bit again, now that he knew nothing was wrong. “Why would I?”   
“You didn’t say anything.”

“I…” Curt sighed. “You’re better with words than I am. I’m more a man of action.” He pulled Owen in for another kiss, and Owen let him.

“Right.” He was laughing into the kiss. Then he broke it. “Right. But just… For my sake. Just so I’m sure.”

“Owen.” Curt looked him directly in the eyes and took a deliberate step back, still with both hands on his hip. “I love you. I want this, I want  _ you _ . Any time possible.”

“Good.” Owen had let his hands drop from Curt’s neck; he put them on his shoulders now. “Then kiss me, my love.”

Curt obeyed with a smile, though only for a moment. “Let me just clear the table and everything. We have all week.”

“Sure.” Owen stepped back and let Curt get to it. He tried to help, but Curt stopped him and told him to go sit down; he preferred to do things himself.

He didn’t tell Owen it was to clear his head. He hadn’t put a lot of thought into putting words to his feelings; that was Owen’s thing, not to mention, it hadn’t been necessary. Letters were too dangerous, and when they were together, he preferred action.

Once he was done clearing the table and doing the worst of the dishes, he went to where Owen had taken a seat on the couch. He reached out a hand, and Owen took it.

“What’s up, love?” He asked.

Curt smiled. “It’s not late, but I thought we might as well head to bed.”

Owen raised an eyebrow. “Is that right?” He laughed and leaned in to plant a quick kiss on Curt’s lips. “You know, I think you’re quite right.”

“Good.” Curt picked Owen up and carried him to the bedroom.

They didn’t exactly sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am weak for one trope and it is dumbasses carrying their lovers ok


	23. Owen

Owen blinked awake sometime in the early morning — the time difference fortunately didn’t bother him much — and looked over at Curt, sprawled out next to him. He could feel a smile on his lips; yes, this was stupid, was reckless, was careless, but it was also good. He’d accepted the risk long ago, that night in Glasgow months back. He hadn’t gotten used to the bliss.

Curt stirred a little, but didn’t wake. Owen rolled over to wrap an arm around him and pulled him closer. He matched his breathing to Curt’s and slowly drifted away in sleep again, almost forgetting that this wasn’t the way his life would always be.

When he woke again, it was by Curt burying his face in his shoulder. “Goodmorning,” Owen said with a half smile and planted a kiss on Curt’s hair.

“Morning.” Curt’s voice was muffled in Owen’s skin. “Did you sleep alright?”   
“I slept very well.” He kissed his hair again. “Better with you.”

Curt laughed and lifted his head. “Yeah. Me too.” He leaned in to give Owen a proper kiss. “Breakfast?”   
“Sounds good.” Owen sat up. “I hope you have coffee.”

“Of course I have coffee.” Curt got out of bed and went to get coffee and breakfast ready while Owen took a shower.

They chatted some more over breakfast, still flirting, still holding hands and kissing. Owen noticed how Curt was positively giggling several times, and commented on how cute it was. The phrase  _ like a schoolgirl _ came to mind, but he didn’t voice it; he didn’t want to risk Curt stopping.

After breakfast was cleared away and Curt had had a shower, they went out. Owen noticed how their dynamic shifted the moment Curt opened the front door; they kept a good foot of distance between them at all times, and even their voices changed, going from soft and giggly to more bantering, less intimate. Owen didn’t feel the urge to smile as much. It wasn’t the first time he’d observed this shift between them, but it felt even more pronounced now.

Maybe he was overthinking it. He shook off the thought as Curt pulled him through the streets of Washington DC, showing him his favourite places. Odd bazaars, little cafes and restaurants, large department stores, some tailors that were far too expensive for Owen’s budget, confirming to him for sure that Curt was paid more than he was. He mentioned this to Curt, who laughed it off. His mother had money, he told him, and he prioritised. And he didn’t have family to care for the way Owen did; Owen was still sending money to his sister Leela and her husband every month, even if they were doing fine on their own. He just worried; he was used to taking care of her.

Despite the change in dynamic between them, Owen had to actively stop himself from referring to Curt as  _ love _ on several occasions. He did once, and Curt sent him a quick smile, before moving on as though the slip hadn’t happened. Owen didn’t worry too much; he was audibly British, and though he couldn’t drop pet names as freely as he would in private, one slip wouldn’t matter.

And the week passed like that, with them just walking around as friends, and being lovers in private. Owen enjoyed it. It was the longest they’d ever gotten to spend together.

Goodbyes were hard, because they always were. Curt drove him to the airport, so it was just a hug.

“I love you,” Owen whispered to Curt before letting him go.

“I love you too.” Curt let him go and smiled. “Stay safe.”   
“You too, my friend.” Owen patted his shoulder. “Stay in touch. I’ll see you soon.”   
“Hopefully.”

They exchanged a quick smile, and then Owen walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here ends Act IV which means — time for the action to start soon


	24. Interlude IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long one because I decided to just go ahead and skip like three years, so here we are

_ June 2nd, 1953 _

Dear Curt,

I just wanted to say thank you for the lovely week in the US. I had a really good time with you, and hope to repeat the experience soon. Maybe London again next time? Or I’ll take you to Oxford, perhaps.

Either way. I hope to see you soon. Take care out there.

Love,

Owen

_ June 30th, 1953 _

Dear Owen,

I’m happy you enjoyed your stay. I was very happy to host you, and will be happy to do so again. Or come visit you; London is nice, and I’ve never been to Oxford.

Just wanted to check in; I don’t know when I’ll be able to reply again, but I hope it’s sooner rather than later.

Take care of yourself, Owen.

Love,

Curt

_ August 3rd, 1953 _

**Mission Report: Agent Curtis Mega**

Arrived in Spain. Unable to locate contact. Was able to locate Agent Owen Carvour, MI6, and his contact, on the same mission. Managed to retrieve weapons with their help. Weapons left in British custody, as they did most of the heavy lifting.

_ August 30th, 1953 _

Dear Owen,

It was nice seeing you, even if just for a moment, last month. I’m sorry I didn’t write for your birthday; I left almost immediately after coming home from Spain and haven’t had time until now.

Anyway, I just wanted to check in. I’ve missed you. Hope to see you soon.

Take care,

Curt

_ September 28th, 1953 _

Dear Curt,

Thanks for your letter, sorry I haven’t replied sooner, I’ve been at work as well. Just got home from Japan again, I have to admit, I still don’t know what I’m doing over there.

Anyway, I miss you too, I’m happy you checked in. I hope everything’s going well on your side of the Atlantic. It was nice seeing you for a moment, yes, though it’s been so long already.

Hopefully I’ll see you soon. Take care of yourself, Curt.

Love,

Owen

PS: Since I probably won’t have a chance to write again before; happy birthday, love.

_ November 19th, 1953 _

**Mission Report: Agent Owen Carvour**

Met with Agent Curt Mega, ASS, and arranged a watch. Four days of nothing. Arranged an undercover mission, as Agent Mega knows enough Russian to walk in convincingly. Managed to obtain knowledge of their secondary location, of which our briefing had mentioned nothing. Set up a watch at the secondary location; target found and obtained within the hour. No further issues.

_ December 20th, 1953 _

Dear Curt,

Merry Christmas. I’m sorry I haven’t written to you sooner, I know it’s been quite a while, but work holds us up sometimes. I hope you’ve been okay.

Are you spending Christmas with your mother? I’m staying with Leela and her husband for the holidays, assuming I don’t get called to work. Leela is pregnant, as I’m sure I mentioned, so everything’s getting turned upside down.

I do hope to see you soon. I’ve missed you.

Take care of yourself.

Love,

Owen

_ January 3rd, 1954 _

Dear Owen,

Merry Christmas. Hope everything went well.

I was not with my mother. She’s gotten a safehouse, so I’m not really visiting at all these days. It’s fine, but I think she’s going a little stir-crazy.

Tell your sister congratulations from me. I’m hoping we can see each other soon.

Take care of yourself.

Love,

Curt

_ March 20th, 1954 _

Dear Curt,

Sorry for the radio silence, work was busy.

I wish you were here. Leela died in childbirth, and the baby didn’t make it either. The funeral was today, I’m writing this just after coming home. I could use your comfort. I’ve taken some sick leave, partly to deal with the legal fallout, partly to deal with myself. Unfortunately, I cannot travel during it, or I would ask to come see you. If you can come here, please do.

No matter. I hope to see you soon. I’ve missed you, it’s been far too long.

Take care of yourself. I love you.

Love,

Owen

_ April 8th, 1954 _

Dear Owen,

I am so sorry to hear about Leela. I wish I could be there with you. Don’t hesitate to let me know if there’s anything I can do; I’ll be able to make international phone calls, with some planning, if you want to talk. Obviously, this will be through work. I am unfortunately not in a position to travel for the next few months, but let me know.

I hope to see you soon. I love you too. Take care, and take your time.

Yours,

Curt

_ June 21st, 1954 _

**Mission Report: Agent Owen Carvour**

First mission back in the field post sick leave. Cooperated with Agent Curt Mega, ASS, on retrieving a number of blueprints for nuclear weapons. Blueprints were under surprisingly little security, and are currently passed into American custody for research to see if they were a decoy.

_ July 20th, 1954 _

Dear Curt,

Sorry, again, for being so absent, though I have to say, it was very lovely to see you last month. I hope to see you outside of work soon; perhaps in November? I’m thinking of taking some time off around then, anyway.

I hope we can talk more in the future, also on the phone. It would be nice to hear your voice.

Take care of yourself out there, my dear.

Love,

Owen

_ August 5th, 1954 _

Dear Owen,

Happy birthday. I know this won’t reach you on the day, but still. I’ve enclosed a small gift.

I’d love to see you in November if at all possible, though hopefully sooner.

I’ll let you know when I can call you.

Take care of yourself.

Yours,

Curt

_ September 7th, 1954 _

**Mission Report: Agent Curtis Mega**

Arrived in London. Located the target. Was found out and shot. Sought the help of Agent Owen Carvour, MI6. Tracked down and neutralised target with MI6 help.

_ October 3rd, 1954 _

Dear Curt,

It was nice to see you last month, even if the circumstances weren’t good. I keep telling you to be careful, I do hope you listen to me sometimes.

Anyway. Happy birthday; I hope this letter arrives in time, but I can’t be sure. Nonetheless, I’ve enclosed a gift; I hope you enjoy it.

I’ll be by in November, I’m arriving in DC on the 10th. I’m excited to see you.

Please take care of yourself until then.

Love,

Owen

_ October 31st. 1954 _

Dear Owen,

Thank you for the gift; unnecessary, but very appreciated.

I’ll come out to pick you up, don’t worry about it. I’m excited to see you; it’s been quite a while since we’ve had time outside of work.

Take care of yourself.

Yours,

Curt

_ November 20th, 1954 _

Dear Curt,

Thanks for the visit. It was lovely to see you again; sorely missed.

I’m home again, but I’ll be out soon. I’ll have more work over the next year or so, so letters might slow down; too bad, really, now that we’ve finally settled into a rhythm.

Please don’t hesitate to write me even when I’m not answering; I love to come home to find your letters.

Take care of yourself so we may exchange many more.

Love,

Owen

_ December 30th, 1954 _

**Mission Report: Agent Curtis Mega**

Started stakeout on Christmas day with Agent Neil Mereilles and Agents Owen Cavour and Edgar Kirkby, MI6. Spent four days alternating before Agent Mereilles decided to go undercover and go in. Obtained information within the hour, which allowed us to plan an ambush. Ambush went smoothly; target found and captured. Currently in custody in DC.

_ January 22nd, 1955 _

Dear Owen,

It was nice getting to spend Christmas together, even if we only had a short moment alone. I’m going to miss you, going forward.

Hopefully we’ll get to work together soon; I’m more or less the unofficial ensign for working with MI6, so it’s not unlikely. Otherwise, I’ll have to come to London outside of work.

Take care of yourself. I love you.

Yours,

Curt

_ February 2nd, 1955 _

Dear Curt,

Thank you for the letter. It was nice to come home to.

I agree, it was nice to be together for Christmas. At some point we’ll have to do so without being at work; wouldn’t that be grand?

I’ll be gone for most of March, so I don’t think I’ll see your reply, but the good news is I think your agency is assigning an agent for part of my job, so I might see you.

Take care of yourself. I love you too.

Love,

Owen

_ February 23rd, 1955 _

Dear Owen,

I hope they do. It would be quite nice to see you again.

As for Christmas, one of these days we might be able to celebrate together properly. My mother always tells me to bring “someone” home for Christmas. I’m sure she means a girlfriend, but if she doesn’t specify, I might as well bring a friend.

Take care. I hope to hear from you soon, or see you.

Yours,

Curt

_ April 1st, 1955 _

**Mission Report: Agent Owen Carvour**

Last partial report from this mission. After three weeks undercover, I was joined by Agent Curt Mega, ASS. With his help, I managed to finally secure a contact. In the course of six days, we had collected the information necessary to arrange a breach. Everything went smoothly.

_ May 30th, 1955 _

Dear Owen,

Too bad I had to leave so soon after our last meeting, though it was nice to get to spend a few days with you. I’m hoping we can repeat the experience soon; perhaps in September?   
I may be getting ahead of myself, mind you. This is no easy job.

Take care of yourself. I hope everything’s alright.

Yours,

Curt

_ July 2nd, 1955 _

Dear Curt,

I’ve missed you. We’ve had some, shall we say loyalty issues, at the agency, so our mail has been screened more thoroughly. It’s over now, though; frankly, I didn’t want to send letters while they were being screened, I’m sure you understand, my love.

Anyway. September sounds nice. Do you plan on coming here? I’d love to come to DC, but well, it is a bit far to travel. Either way; seeing you is worth it.

Be careful. I love you.

Love,

Owen

_ July 30th, 1955 _

Dear Owen,

I’ve missed you too. I was wondering how come I didn’t hear from you…

I’m thinking I’ll be in London in September if possible. I’d love to see some more of your city; I haven’t been quite as much as I’d like. Perhaps we can go to Oxford? Either way, seeing you is worth it.

Oh, and an early happy birthday, or late, depending on when this reaches you, I suppose. I’ll bring you a present when I see you; this is one I’d like to hand over personally.

You be careful too, now. I love you.

Yours,

Curt

PS: As infrequently as it happens, mail I receive does get screened on occasion; be careful.

_ August 15th, 1955 _

Dear Curt,

It would be great if you came in September. Don’t worry about informing me; I’ll be home all of September, I’ve been promised, this time. Unless, of course, there is a global emergency, but in that case, you likely won’t be coming either. I’d love for you to just drop by; an illusion of normalcy is often all we have in this kind of life we lead.

I’ll see you soon, I hope.

Love,

Owen

PS: Thanks for the warning.

_ October 5th, 1955 _

**Mission Report: Agent Owen Carvour**

Was captured immediately upon entering the house. Was kept in isolation for about a day, and then freed by Agent Curt Mega, ASS. He was expecting to rescue civilians. Helped him complete his objective, finding some blueprints, as my own target was long gone. Mission a fail for MI6, but a success for ASS. More information needed.

_ November 2nd, 1955 _

Dear Owen,

I just wanted to check in; it’s been a while. Thanks for my few days in London; it was nice to see you outside of work. It was, however, also nice to see you last month; I enjoyed playing the rescuing part, for once, in our partnership.

I hope you’re holding up. I know you haven’t had an easy time of it over the last year or so, and I do hope I’ve been able to ease some of it.

Be careful, and remember to take care of yourself outside of work, too. I love you.

Yours,

Curt

_ November 29th, 1955 _

Dear Curt,

You have helped tremendously these last few years; I’m forever grateful, and hope I can do the same for you in any eventuality. I’m sure there’s much more I want to say, but it’s easier in person.

I hope to be home before Christmas, but if not, I hope you enjoy yourself. See you soon, I hope. Take care of yourself.

Love,

Owen

_ December 20th, 1955 _

Dear Owen,

A somewhat delayed merry Christmas, as I imagine this will arrive well into 1956. I do hope to see you soon, or at least have a phone call.

There is so much I want to tell you, but words aren’t enough for me, as I’m sure you know. For now, I hope you’re making it through the holidays in whichever way you need to.

Be careful. I love you.

Yours,

Curt

_ January 16th, 1956 _

**Mission Report: Agent Curtis Mega**

Rendezvoused with Agent Owen Carvour, MI6. Planned a stakeout for the following day. Remarkably successful. Escape compromised. Ended up having to blow the facility, much to the chagrin of MI6. Mission an overall success.

_ February 21st, 1956 _

Dear Curt,

It was nice seeing you back in January. I’m sending this from Canada, hoping to stop by on the way home. I don’t know if it’ll reach you beforehand; I’ll try knocking and hoping, I suppose.

Because I wanted you to be one of the first to know; I’m considering applying for a transfer. I enjoy this job, I do, but seeing as I’m no longer taking care of Leela, I can’t say I really need the money. I think I could be of as much use behind a desk, if not more. I might give it a year or two, but I wanted you to know; it would mean we wouldn’t work together anymore, but it would also mean that I could visit you much easier, and with much less planning.

I really wish I could see you more often, my love. Take care of yourself out there.

Love,

Owen

_ March 14th, 1956 _

Dear Owen,

I’m interested in why you want to transfer. I know you said, but I don’t think I understand. Why would you want to sit behind a desk? We’re making a difference out here.

But it’s your call. It would be nice to see you more often, too. I love you, and I miss you.

By the way, Director Houston has decided to screen our mail without informing us, which I suppose makes sense; she’s as much a spy as any of us. This led to what you can imagine was a rather uncomfortable situation, but we are safe. I hope you are too.

Be careful, whatever you choose to do. I miss you.

Yours,

Curt

_ April 22nd, 1956 _

**Mission Report: Agent Owen Carvour**

Was assigned alongside Agent Curt Mega, ASS. Arrived at what turned out to be an underground complex. Retrieved the documents we needed, but were discovered. Agent Mega decided that it would be fitting to blow the complex up. We made it out in just about six minutes. The place blew up, subsequently leaving no witnesses. The documents were safely placed in British custody.

_ May 15th, 1956 _

Dear Curt,

Talked to my superiors about the transfer; they are not happy with the idea at the moment, so I’ll wait a year to submit formally. Hopefully this means we should get to work together a few more times before we need to say our goodbyes.

And even then, the goodbyes are only professional. I do hope that we will keep exchanging letters and seeing each other even after we no longer work together; anything less would break my heart.

Knowing that you’re not in danger from me writing this, let me say; Curt Mega, you are going to be the death of me. The reasonable, the sensible, the  safe thing to do would be to leave you, but I love you. Simple as that. I care about you, and I hope you’re happy. I hope you’re happy with me.

As I said; I hope to see you soon. Please take care of yourself.

Love,

Owen

_ June 8th, 1956 _

Dear Owen,

I am, of course, sad on your behalf that you can’t get your transfer, but I’m also happy about it; if it means I see you more often.

I love you too. And I’m never happier than when I’m with you; I hope you can say the same. I miss you.

Be careful. You can never be too careful; advice, I know, _ I  _ would do well to follow.

Yours,

Curt

_ July 6th, 1956 _

Dear Curt,

That’s quite alright; transferring was a fancy, nothing more, and I am content to wait for the reality. If I can get to see you, well, then it’s worth it.

I don’t have much to say that hasn’t already been said. I just wish I could see you.

Soon, love. Take care.

Love,   
Owen

_ July 28th, 1956 _

Dear Owen,

Happy birthday. Hopefully this year, it will arrive on time. A gift is enclosed, but it’s just a token; I’ll bring your real gift when I see you.

And I will soon, or so I’m told. Cynthia, for all her flaws, understands our position; late August, I’m told, there will be another joint mission from our agencies, and she’s hoping to have you put on it. I’m setting my hopes on it.

I miss you. Take care of yourself. I love you. See you soon.

Yours,

Curt

_ September 1st, 1956 _

**Mission Report: Agent Curtis Mega**

Arrived at point of contact with Agent Owen Carvour, MI6. Our informant was a no-show, so we were forced to improvise. Agent Carvour went undercover and managed to find the location of the arms deal. Everything went as planned from them. Weapons are in American custody, the people involved are in Britain.

_ September 20th, 1956 _

Dear Curt,

I know it hasn’t been long, but I’m about to leave for an extended period, so I just wanted to check in. It was lovely seeing you a few weeks back; I hope everything went alright on your trip home.

Oh, before I forget; a (slightly early) happy birthday. No gift this year, I’m afraid; I’m not being paid as much as I have been, and I’m saving up for coming to visit you again; consider that a present, if you will.

I just wanted to check in. I miss you. And please take care of yourself, my dear, I know you’re bad at that.

Love,

Owen

_ October 10th, 1956 _

Dear Owen,

Nice to hear from you. Everything went great.

I don’t know when you’ll be able to answer, but either way; thank you for the wishes. I hope to come visit you soon, probably just past the new year. It’s been too long since we’ve seen each other outside of work.

Let me know when you’re home and if you have time in January. Be careful; I miss you.

Yours,

Curt

_ November 18th, 1956 _

Dear Curt,

Finally home. It’s been a long time; I miss you so much more when we don’t even get to talk. I must’ve written ten letters in the past month that I couldn’t send.

I’d love it if you could come in January. Let me know, as soon as possible, when exactly, and I’ll make sure to take the time off. We’ll figure it out.

It really has been too long. I love you. Take care of yourself now, I heard from Director Smith that there was a job they couldn’t assign you because you’d been injured.

Love,

Owen

_ December 15th, 1956 _

Dear Owen,

Yes, I was mildly injured for a bit and had to sit out on an MI6 mission; nothing serious, I promise.

I’m landing in London January 8th. I’ll be coming in super early in the morning, though, taking an overnight flight, so don’t worry about coming to get me; I’ll find my way to your place. I’m excited to see you, it’s been too long.

Merry Christmas and happy new year. Be careful, and I’ll see you soon.

Yours,

Curt

_ February 2nd, 1957 _

**Mission Report: Agent Owen Carvour**

Arrived at location, undercover. Was found out by, and simultaneously found out, Agent Curt Mega, ASS, working a similar mission. We cooperated peripherally, and he stayed to assist the tail end of my mission as his own wrapped up. Blueprints located and removed, all without discovery, and largely thanks to Agent Mega’s help.

_ February 10th, 1957 _

Dear Curt,

I can’t believe we’ve managed to see each other twice since our last letter; I hope the trend continues, it’s highly enjoyable. I always miss you.

Regardless, I’ll be unavailable most of the next month, possibly two; there’s work to do. I’m going to miss you, though.

Be careful. I’ll talk to you as soon as I can.

Love,

Owen

_ March 2nd. 1957 _

Dear Owen,

It’s amazing, isn’t it. I’m going to miss you; already do, actually.

Hopefully we’ll figure out a way to see each other again soon. I know it’s only been a month, but that’s also too long. It’s a shame we live so far apart.

Take care of yourself; I know you do, but still.

Yours,

Curt

_ March 30th, 1957 _

Dear Curt,

I’ve sustained a small injury, so I should be able to reply immediately for the next month or so. They tell me I’ll be back in the field by May 1st, but who knows.

Nothing serious, I promise, you don’t have to worry about me, I’ll be fine. Just a twisted ankle, nothing more. But I still wish you were here; it would be a little less boring to be confined to my flat.

Be careful. As I’ve just proven, it doesn’t always work, but you’re a lot less careful than I, so I have to say it. I’ll see you soon, I hope.

Love,

Owen

_ April 27th, 1957 _

Dear Owen,

Sorry I couldn’t reply sooner, I’ve been out of town. I’m sorry to hear about your injury; I hope you’re better. I wish I could’ve been with you, too; I’d worry less, and, well, I just want to see you.

Soon, hopefully. Be careful; even more, now. I love you.

Yours,

Curt

_ May 20th, 1957 _

Dear Curt,

I’m back in the field and doing just fine. Assuming everything goes according to plan, I’ll be off for a while in July. Will I be able to see you then?

Either way. I love you. Be careful; I do want to see you at work, too.

Love,

Owen


	25. Curt

Everything went according to plan, until it didn’t. Curt managed to get into the facility undetected, managed to get the blueprints he needed, but he only got halfway out before he was caught.

There were six of them. Too many for him to deal with alone, at least safely. He’d have a chance later; for now it was easier to follow them.

He was tied to a chair and left alone for a while. That was fine. Then two men entered. They wanted to know why he was there; Curt laughed at them. He’d been tortured before; it sucked, definitely, and he was always too close to dying, but it didn’t quite scare him as much as it maybe should.

Either way, it wasn’t as bad as he’d expected. Yeah, they punched him, but that was all. And one of them had an odd lilt in his accent, almost as if it was put on.

He leaned in a little too close, and Curt suppressed a smile; Owen. In that case, he could take his time.

Not that Curt could quite help himself. Owen kept setting him up, whether intentionally or not, for flirtatious quips, and well. Curt was not one to deny them. He was fine; hardly hurt at all, and he trusted Owen enough for it to stay that way. And then he started tickling him, the bastard.

“Personal history does have its benefits, Mega.”

Curt almost rolled his eyes; he knew why, there was no reason to be dramatic. Then Owen shot out the knees of the actual Russian in the room, so he was willing to forgive him. “Owen Carvour, you limey bastard.” Someone else was still in the room, so although Curt mostly wanted to give him a hug, he refrained. “I knew it was you all along. That accent sure could use some work.” He accepted the gun Owen handed him; it was nice to be armed again.

“Oh sod off, it fooled twenty Russian security officers and our dear friend Oleg over here.” Owen gestured to the guy on the floor, evidently confused.

Curt shook his head slightly; Owen was decent with accents, but he didn’t speak a lick of actual Russian.

They started getting out. Curt still had the blueprints tucked in his inner pocket, so at that point, they just needed to get out. “I’m a bad influence, sneaking in without actually knowing any Russian isn’t smart,” Curt whispered as they were moving down a hallway.

Owen shook his head. “Half the people here are foreigners, no one was gonna actually speak Russian to me,” he whispered back. “Unlike you, I do my research.”

Cynthia called as they were sneaking out; Owen did most of the talking. Probably a good thing, Curt figured; she liked Owen a lot more than she liked him.

Curt had a drink, and passed it to Owen who was, naturally, being annoyed about it. He took a drink, though, when Curt imitated him; he always would.

“Pass me one of the chargers, love.” Owen held out a hand, and Curt tossed him what he needed. Apparently Owen wasn’t concerned with public just then.

“What’s our record?”

“Huh?” Owen looked mildly confused.

“Berlin, last spring.” Curt smiled. “We made it out of there in what, six minutes?”   
“I don’t like that look in your eyes, yeah six minutes.” Owen all but rolled his eyes, but as much as he tried to conceal it, Curt recognised his smile.

“Oh, you love it. Think we can do it in four?” Curt smiled as he and Owen quickly exchanged a few things.

_ I love you, _ Owen mouthed, making Curt smile again. “Make it four.”

“Atta boy.”  _ I love you too, _ he mouthed back before returning to what he was doing. “Three it is,” he muttered to himself.

They got everything set up and almost got out, then the explosives engaged. “Curt?” There was a note of stress in Owen’s voice.

“I lied. I set the timers for three minutes! Gotta go!” Curt managed to weasel his way around the people pointing guns at him, Owen a step ahead of him.

“Oh Curt Mega, you’re going to be the death of me!” Owen was evidently stressed, evidently annoyed, but Curt was just happy he was there.

“No! I’d never let you down.” Curt recognised, even in the moment, the irony of his words. He watched as Owen slipped — on the damn banana peel that he’d dropped earlier, careless as he was — and fell.

Curt panicked. Owen was dead, he was sure of it; it wasn’t a long fall, but he’d landed on his neck, and he wasn’t moving, now. Curt wanted to run back for him, but that would only get him killed, which was of no use to anybody, Owen least of all. He had to run, had to leave him.

Had to remember him.


	26. Owen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you get bribed to change the outcome of your fic. Sometimes you take that bribe. This is not one of those times.

Owen woke up in a hospital bed, in intense pain. He remembered Curt, remembered escaping, remembered getting trapped, remembered falling.

Remembered Curt leaving without him.

He blinked awake further. It was a hospital bed, but he wasn’t in a hospital; some kind of makeshift infirmary. And there were people there, most of them in Soviet military uniforms. He was trapped.

“You are awake.” A man with a heavy Russian accent came over to look at him. “Do you have name?”   
“Owen Carvour.” Owen sighed. “Where am I? Can I get some anaesthetic?” He didn’t have high hopes for that last one, but maybe if he pretended to not know anything he could avoid the worst of it.

The man laughed, crushing his hopes. “No. Owen Carvour. Who do you work for?”

There was some kind of point in making a show of resistance, Owen supposed, but he didn’t know how much. “If I tell you, will I get some anaesthetics?” He didn’t think he would.

“Perhaps,” the man said.

It was the best he was gonna get. “I work for the British Secret Service.”   
“And what were you doing here?”   
And so, the interrogation continued. Owen never got his anaesthetics, but he did get punched a few times when he clammed up. But truth be told, he didn’t know much, and in that moment, he didn’t care about keeping secrets. He had other things on his mind.

Namely Curt. Curt who’d lied to him, apparently, up until seconds before he broke every promise he’d ever made. Curt, who didn’t —  _ couldn’t _ — love him as much as he’d said he did, as much as Owen loved him. Curt, who had left him to die.

Night came, and the infirmary fell quiet, not as much as a guard. Owen did a test of his faculties; he was in pain, and a lot of it, and weak from his injuries, but he could move. Which meant he could get out.

He was in a small village, he realised. There was no hospital or anything, so he’d have to figure out another place to stay. They’d taken away everything he had with him, so he couldn’t even radio for help.

He found a small pub that was open and looked like it might have rooms. He didn’t have any money, but he’d have to worry about that later.

He’d have to worry about that immediately; the woman at the counter spoke English, but she was clearly suspicious of him, and demanded payment upfront. She was kind enough to say he could sit in there without ordering until they closed, though, but she wouldn’t let him use her telephone.

So Owen sat at a table, not as cold as he could be, and thought, inevitably, about Curt.

It took no more than a few minutes before a man pulled a chair up across from Owen. He was blond, early 30’s or so, with a slight smile. “Hello,” he said as he sat down. “My name is Alexei. I’ve heard you might need some help.” He had a slight Russian accent, but it was very slight.

Owen nodded slightly. “I’m Owen. And yes, maybe I do. I just need a way to call my boss back in the UK.” It wasn’t strictly true, but it was close enough. “And maybe a ride to the nearest hospital, or at least a place to stay the night and get a hot shower.”

Alexei smiled wider. “You can stay with me.”   
“Thank you.” Owen should be more careful, but given his situation, he didn’t have the time for it. He had to just try. “I’d like that.”

“Let’s go then.” Alexei got out of his seat. “I’m trained as a nurse, I’ll take a look at your wounds once we get back.”

He did. He also talked too much; he knew who Owen was, knew all about the facility and the mission and Curt, knew everything. He was with an organisation named Chimera — Owen wasn’t familiar, but too delusional with pain to really remember — and was interested in Owen’s abilities and insights.

Owen didn’t tell him anything. He did tell him thank you, as he fell asleep on the camp bed Alexei had pulled out for him, wrapped in blankets and generally as comfortable as he could be, given the circumstances.

He stayed with Alexei for three weeks. He didn't tell him anything important, but they became friends, in a way. Alexei talked more about this Chimera, and Owen's interest was piqued. He didn't immediately agree with them, at least not with their methods, but well. Their goal might be worth it.

And as he laid in bed at night and thought about Curt Mega, his resentment for the spy grew as much as his resentment for the man, and he could see so clearly how Chimera could fix the world so that no one else would ever be in the same situation as he was now.


	27. Interlude V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New type of interlude, I hope this makes sense because uhh, it's definitely weird

_ I am finally healed enough to begin my return home. With no way to contact my agency — and, I might add, no desire to — it will be a long journey. Alexei has been kind enough to lend me some money, and his contacts through Chimera. It won't be easy, but with the work they do, I might be able to make a real difference. One Curt Mega will not make. _

**Dear Owen,**

**I miss you. It's been a week, it's late, and I'm drunk again, and I miss you. I'm so sorry for leaving you, I wish I could've changed it, but… There was nothing I could've done. I wish I'd been more careful, wish I'd been more like you.**

**I love you. I hope, wherever you are, whatever happens to you now, I hope you're happy.**

**Yours,**

**Curt**

_ I wish there was some way I could find Curt Mega and tell him what he did to me. Make him understand. But he wouldn't, of course; always only caring about himself, always just doing things that benefited him. I can't believe I let myself fall for him, idiot that I am, I didn't see. I can see it now, looking back. The clever flirting, the way he pretended to care for our reputation, the way he gave in too quickly. Whatever he wanted from me, it was a long con, and I fell for it, hook, line, and sinker. Same as I fell for the military and their promises of a better world, the agency and their promises of change. I fell for all of it, I wanted to believe it. More the fool I am. _

**Owen… These aren't letters anymore, I think. I still miss you. I'm off work, for now. It's been rough, without you. I love you, and I don't know how to move on from this. Mother doesn't know, of course, though I wish she did. She'd be someone to talk to. But the only person I want to talk to is you, so here I am, writing letters to no one, and burning them, hoping that maybe you'll know. Maybe you'll understand. I love you.**

**Yours,**

**Curt**

_ I am finally back in the UK. I am, as it turns out, legally dead. Alexei got me in contact with some of Chimera's agents in London, who have all decided that it's better if Owen Carvour stays dead. So Owen Carvour doesn't exist anymore; I have been given an apartment in Liverpool, which is where I live now, and all I need to do is wait. Build a character. I've done research for it for quite a while, and I must say, it is not a character I can see myself enjoying. But it must be done. _


	28. Curt

The year came to an end. Curt spent the new year alone in his apartment; it had been seven months since Owen died, but he wasn’t prepared to see anyone. He’d spent Christmas with his mother, which was bad enough; he needed to be alone.

He needed Owen.

But Owen was dead, and Curt needed to accept that. He went out around midnight, walking through the streets. There were parties and people in the street; people who were alive, who were happy.

“Hey! Hey guy!” A man grabbed Curt’s arm. “Hey guy! Have a drink!” The man, around Curt’s age, with long brown hair and an ill fitting suit, shoved a bottle into Curt’s hand.

“Thanks.” Curt took a sip; mostly whiskey, but he suspected there was a bit of vodka and beer in there too. Overall, a pretty gross experience. He glanced at his watch; a few minutes past midnight. “How’s 58 going for you?”

The man nodded. “It’s good, it’s good. Hey, I’m Ben, what’s your name?” The man — Ben — stuck out a hand.

Curt shook it. “I’m Curt. Nice to meet you.” They were both half shouting, seeing as there was a lot of noise in the streets. “Thanks for the drink.” He shoved the bottle back into Ben’s hands, who pushed it back.

“Have another!” he shouted. “You don’t look near drunk enough for 58.”

“You’re right about that.” Curt wasn’t about to argue with free booze; he took another long swig, grimacing slightly at the taste, but enjoying the momentary distraction. “Thanks.”

Ben smiled. “Come inside with us! Have a party!”

“I don’t…” Curt should go home. He’d gotten what he wanted; a momentary distraction, some booze. But he was still thinking about Owen, the version of him who lived in the back of his head and was slightly shaking his head at Curt’s bad decisions. “Thanks! Let’s go!” He followed Ben inside.

They went into a small apartment. There were several other people, all men, scattered on various couches. Curt, drunk but still on guard, took note of all of them. He’d guess none of them were a day over 30, most of them shabbily dressed, all of them had long hair. He did, momentarily, wonder if he’d wandered into some kind of cult, but they were all nice, and there was plenty of alcohol.

Curt didn’t really forget about Owen, and he remembered him even stronger every time he checked his watch — a gift from Owen, several years ago — but he did succeed in not feeling crushed for a few hours.

When he walked home, at around four in the morning, he was too drunk and, once again, feeling like nothing in the world would ever be right.

He swore he saw Owen diving around a corner, but he forced himself not to follow; he’d seen, or thought he’d seen, Owen several times since he’d died, and he’d had to learn it was a figment of his imagination. Owen was dead, no matter how much Curt wished he wasn’t.


	29. Owen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It gets weird now, and I apologise

The year came to an end. Owen Carvour hadn’t properly existed for nearly six months, but tonight, he did. Alone in his Liverpool apartment, still paid for by Chimera, he was having a drink and thinking about Curt, for the first time without resentment.

Owen needed to grieve, he’d decided. For himself, for Agent Owen Carvour, who’d died in Russia back in June, for Owen who had loved the wrong man. And for Curt Mega, or at least the version of him Owen had thought he knew. The one he’d loved.

PM became AM, and Owen could hear people in the streets. He stayed inside, listening.

“Happy New Year!”

“I love you.”

“Have a drink! Come on, have a drink!”   
“I don’t think 1958 is going to be any better.”

“You’re so bloody pessimistic.”

Owen looked at the glass in his hand. “I miss you,” he whispered. “I wish I didn’t.”

He drank himself to sleep, for once; usually, he accepted the insomnia, but that day was different. That day was Agent Owen Carvour, and not Lucas Bridges, as he had become known through Chimera.

He woke up with a hangover, but he was comfortable in the idea of Owen being dead, for the first time. Lucas Bridges got himself a glass of water and got to work.

There was only one other Chimera member in London; a woman by the name of Alena Crawford. Lucas went to see her as soon as his hangover had passed enough for him to go outside in the January sun.

"Mrs. Crawford." He smiled politely when she met him in the door. "Ms. Sylas asked if we could discuss some things." Lauren Sylas was the head of Chimera, an American with connections in the government.

Mrs. Crawford didn't return his smile. "Mr. Bridges, come in." She stepped aside. "Ms. Sylas didn't inform me of your visit."

"She must've forgotten to call." Lucas toed his shoes off in the hallway and hung his jacket on a peg. "I apologise if my timing is inconvenient."

"My husband is home, is all." Mrs. Crawford led him into the sitting room. There was a man, older than his wife by at least a decade, reclining in a chair, watching television. "Theo? This is my colleague, Mr. Bridges." Mrs. Crawford gestured to Lucas. "We just need to go over a few things in preparation for a meeting, do you mind if we use your study."

Mr. Crawford stared at them for a few seconds. "Don't touch anything. And you." He pointed at Lucas. "No funny business. Not with my wife, and not with my liquor."

"I assure you, sir, I will leave both well enough alone."

Lucas followed Mrs. Crawford into the study, and explained to her what Ms. Sylas had planned. She was coming to London soon, and wanted them both to come see her.

When he went home, an hour later, Lucas slipped and fell. He wasn't hurt, not badly, but somewhere in his mind, Owen Carvour moved.

Owen wasn't dead, no matter how much Lucas wished he was.


	30. Interlude VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last interlude!! Which means.... Last act starts tomorrow

“Now listen to me, Lucas. We can’t afford to lose Mrs. Crawford.”   
“I know, Lauren, I know, I just—”

“No exceptions. Lucas, darling, you know I love you, but the work comes first. You understand.”   
“I understand.”   
“Good.”   
“Lauren, can I ask you a favour?”   
“Of course, anytime darling.”

“Do you have any contacts in the American Secret Service? I need to pull a name.”

“Who is it? I have limited pull here, it is much easier to have influence as a foreigner, I find.”

“His name is Curtis Mega. He was an associate of Owen Carvour.”   
“Oh, darling, no, I can’t do that.”   
“Thank you, Lauren. I’ll talk to you soon.”   
“Yes. Goodbye Lucas.”   
“Goodbye.”

**It’s been a year, now. It’s almost relieving to be past the anniversary, as though it was worse. It was, and it wasn’t. I don’t know anymore. I’m not even sad anymore, just… Resigned. I miss Owen, but I also miss myself. This is not who I am, but it is who I have to be now. Mom asked me if I planned to get a job. I don’t know. I suppose I should, eventually, but… Not yet. I can’t do it yet. I can’t stay sober long enough, these days. I probably should.**

_ There is a certain kind of relief in Lucas’ life. There is a lot of trouble, too; Lucas is a murderer. Mrs. Crawford helps me with this image, and I should be concerned at how much she knows. I have to actually kill these people; some of them are assassinations for politics, but some of them are just… People. A lot of young girls, too. I’m not as disturbed by it as I perhaps should be, but I am Lucas. Lucas doesn’t care. _

“Curtis?”   
“Oh hi mom.”

“How’s my boy?”   
“Mom! You’re embarrassing me.”   
“Pish posh. How are you?”   
“I’m alright.”   
“Curtis.”

“How are you doing?”   
“Well, let me tell you Curtis, this church group is just, they’re something else! They’re doing an annual church bazaar, and they want to me to bake  _ everything _ for it. Can you believe.”   
“Wauw, mom, that’s a lot. Why don’t you tell them that you can’t?”   
“Now now, Curtis, you know we Megas always deliver. Anyway, enough complaining from me. How are you doing?”

“I’m fine. I’m looking for a job.”

“Oh, that’s so exciting! How come you didn’t tell me immediately?”

“I haven’t found a job yet, I’m still looking.”   
“Alright, well, you tell me the second you find something.”   
“Of course. Gotta go, mom.”   
“Alright. I love you.”   
“I love you too.”

_ Someone referred to me as “the deadliest man alive” the other day. It’s a good moniker. It’s only been three years, but it’s probably true. Lauren suggests I use it instead of my name; Lucas Bridges doesn’t really exist, but he’s too easy to trace. It’s still a name. The Deadliest Man Alive can be known by authorities and still not get caught. It’s perfect. _

**After three years, I’m almost considering returning to my old job. I wonder if Cynthia would see me at all. But I wanna be a spy again; it’s everything I am, and everything I know how to do. I haven’t been able to find a job, I haven’t been able to stay sober for more than a day, I haven’t been able to look my own mother in the eyes. It’s time.**


	31. Curt

1961, four years since he’d retired, and Curt Mega’s sum total of achievement was not dying. Not that he hadn’t been close.

So he showed up at ASS headquarters one day and requested to talk to Cynthia. She agreed to see him. “What do you want?”   
“Nice to see you too.” Curt took a seat. “I want my job back.”

She stared at him. “Fine. You’re going to Hungary. Susan will brief you.”   
“Just like that?”   
A solid ten seconds more of just staring, then she lit a cigarette. “I’m surprised, Mega, that you never seem to expect anything. I’m a spy, I’ve been watching you, you’ve talked about returning for almost a year now, then last week you go buy a new suit. I’m not stupid. Get out of my office.”   
“Ah—”

“Out!” Cynthia threw her feet up on the desk and took a drag from her cigarette. “I don’t wanna look at your stupid face any longer.”

Curt got up. “Thanks, Cynth— I’ll get out of your hair.” Cynthia had pulled a gun on him, so he left to go find Susan.

It was a short briefing, and then he was on a plane to Hungary. Much faster than he’d expected, really, but he didn’t mind; it was the best distraction he’d had in years.

The flight was over too quickly and had too many silences for him to think. It didn’t matter. He was back at work, there was no way to avoid the memories anyway.

Curt found the bar he was supposed to be at, with some difficulty and having to ask locals for directions. He’d hoped that Russian would be enough; it wasn’t.

Eventually, he got to the bar. There was a patron who looked slightly out of place; presumably his contact. “I hear the salty fish from down under is simply to die for.” He hated code words.

She slapped him, hard. “How rude!” Not his contact, then.

On with the job. Curt walked up to the bar. "I hear the salty fish from down under is simply to die for."

"What did you just say to me?" The bartender looked like he was about to slap Curt as well, then relaxed. "Is that one of them fancy drinks? We don't serve those here." He went back to polishing his glass.

Curt sighed. "Fine. Whiskey on the rocks."

"Oh whiskey  _ on the rocks _ , very fancy, you're getting whiskey  _ with ice. _ Yeesh."

The bartender went to get the drink, and Curt went to find a table. A waiter came over with his drink, and Curt, ready to give up, tried the code again.

"Let me tell the chef that he must fry more." Finally.

The briefing was too messy and in public, but it got done. Curt was left alone at the bar.

Which meant that he got to thinking too much.


	32. Owen/Deadliest Man Alive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry for the name changes, they're just two different characters, so I sort of try to delineate, but I don't know if it makes sense

The Deadliest Man Alive was working for an idiot. But Von Nazi was an idiot with money, influence, and the resources needed for Chimera to enact their plan on a global scale, so he was necessary for now.

That didn’t mean his plan was a good one, but the Deadliest Man Alive was not paid to ask questions. So he and two of his companions were left waiting for Sergio Santos in some dingy warehouse.

Sergio showed, his usual bumbly, awkward self. There was murder, because where the Deadliest Man was involved, there always was, but it went as smoothly as one could expect.

And then she showed up. He didn’t know her name, but he’d seen her before, somewhere, though he couldn’t immediately place her. She was pointing a gun at him, which lots of people did, so he wasn’t concerned.

He should’ve been. Not because she could beat him, but because a second later, Curt Mega walked in, and Owen Carvour nearly froze. “You.”

Curt didn’t recognise him, because why would he. So the Deadliest Man Alive ran.

It didn’t take him long to get back to the hotel he was staying at. He called Von Nazi first; as much as he hated the guy, there were things that needed to be done.

As soon as he hung up the phone, he took the mask off. Owen Carvour sat on the floor of a foreign hotel room. “I need a drink,” he said to no one.

He didn’t get a drink. He just laid down on the floor. “That was Curt Mega.” Owen had expected many things, but not that.

It only took 20 minutes for the Deadliest Man Alive to pick himself off of the floor and put his mask on. It was too long, really, but he had the time to spare.

He went to meet with Von Nazi. Since he hadn’t gotten the bomb, they would need to make new plans. 

Von Nazi was in a different hotel, in a different part of the world, so it took a while, but that was fine. The Deadliest Man Alive could be patient if he had to.

He arrived in Monte Carlo and went to find Von Nazi’s hotel suite. Von Nazi was there, along with the woman who had been at the arms deal earlier, holding the bomb. “What’s going on here?” the Deadliest Man Alive asked, gesturing to her.

“Mr. Deadliest Man! Meet Tatiana Slozhno, our associate. She has procured the bomb we will need to threaten the Prussian government.” Von Nazi seemed very proud of himself for a man who had made what appeared to be a completely nonsensical plan.

“She stole that bomb from me,” the Deadliest Man Alive pointed out. “You would’ve gotten it either way, why involve her in it?”

“Because now we have the bomb, Mr. Deadliest Man. Just like the plan said.”

“You would’ve… Oh, forget it.” The Deadliest Man Alive sighed and nodded at the woman, Tatiana. “Welcome to the team.”   
“Thank you.” She nodded back. “What do you need me to do?” She looked at Von Nazi.

“We need to deal with that Curt Mega.”   
“I can do that,” the Deadliest Man Alive cut in.

“No. I need you for something else. Come; Tatiana will take care of the American.”   
The Deadliest Man Alive was good at following orders, at least as long as he was being paid and had an objective, so he followed Von Nazi to the main room of the hotel suite.


	33. Curt

Curt wasn’t exactly proud of his actions in the casino, but between Dick Big being, well, a big dick, and the informant being antagonistic, it was hard to keep his cool. Not to mention, the Russian woman — he still didn’t know her name, though she knew his — was proving incredibly difficult to get alone.

But now he was alone with her in an elevator, and she was making his job easier with every word she was saying. “So you’re not working for the Russians?” He had to be sure.

“You may call me an independent contractor.” She put out a hand, and he took it. “You may also call me… Tatiana.”

Curt kissed her hand, and the conversation continued.

She stopped at a door. “I’m sorry.”

“You’ve got nothing to apologise for.” For the first time in four years, Curt felt properly confident in his skills as a spy.

“Yes.” She unlocked the door. “I do.”   
The Deadliest Man Alive stepped out, pointing a gun at Curt. “Hello Mega.

Curt had to think quickly. “Fuck.” He pulled his own gun, but the Deadliest Man Alive was quicker; he shot it out of Curt’s hand. He managed to do so without actually hitting Curt’s hand, for which Curt was grateful.

“Get inside.” Tatiana gestured. “We have many things to talk about.”

“Right.” Curt sighed and followed them into the room. He was gestured to a chair and told to sit, then tied down. None of that was surprising.

Seeing Dr. Baron Von Nazi was slightly more surprising, but then again, he was one of those unaccounted-for people that had been floating in his periphery for years. He had been bound to show up in something, but of course it was Curt's first job back.

After what probably constituted psychological torture in the form of song, Curt was left alone with the Deadliest Man Alive.

"You really know how to get into people's heads, Mega. But it ain't gonna do you know good." He was walking around, preparing torture. "No gettin' in here." He tapped his forehead. "I'm a steel trap of secrets that would blow your fuckin' mind."

With a sigh, Curt resigned himself to torture.

It wasn't as bad as it could have been, though that was largely thanks to Tatiana, coming in and knocking out the Deadliest Man Alive.

He didn't trust her. He shouldn't trust her. He didn't have a choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We sure do love not having to come up with dialogue


	34. Owen/DMA

The Deadliest Man Alive was laying on the floor, recovering from the knock on the head and wondering why Tatiana hadn't shot him.

Then Owen heard Curt say his name, and instantly, he was back, hesitating. Curt hesitated too.

Then Owen pulled himself together, pulled a gun, and shot at Curt. He was still disoriented from being knocked on the head, or maybe from the pain he heard in Curt's voice, so the shot wasn't fatal. It didn't matter; it felt like some kind of revenge. It felt good.

He got up within minutes of them leaving, but he knew it wasn't worth chasing them. Tatiana seemed intelligent enough, and he knew Curt; they'd be long gone.

Instead, he went to find Von Nazi. “Mega has escaped,” he said. “Tatiana helped him.”

“Ah.” Von Nazi, in bed with his food, looked displeased. “That is… A problem.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Owen took a seat. Allowing himself to be Owen made it harder to keep up the act and accent, but Von Nazi was stupid enough not to realise. “We can still go forward with the plan. We have the bomb, we know where and when the gala will be. Even if they’re warned, they cannot cancel the gala.”

“You’re very right. Go! Continue the plan, Mr. Deadliest Man.”

So Owen did. He went to Geneva, set himself up to be at the gala. Or, well, in the building; he could sneak up to the gallery or a window from there, but he needed a way in the building.

Everything went according to plan; Owen and Von Nazi were standing on a gallery, hidden from the cameras and the guests by a two-way mirror. Curt showed up, but Owen managed to focus.

Until Curt knocked out the presenter and jumped onto the stage and started talking. He should’ve expected this; Curt was in idiot, but he was an idiot with a conscience.

Von Nazi was disappointed for all the wrong reasons; Owen was just going along with him while trying to think of a plan.

“Hold on a tick.” He held up a hand to stop Von Nazi’s ranting. “I think I know how we can use this American’s little confession to our advantage.” He wanted to make some kind of demeaning comment about Curt, but it wouldn’t make sense for the Deadliest Man Alive to do, and he didn’t want to risk blowing his cover.   
“I think I see where you’re going!” Von Nazi looked delighted. Owen was surprised; he usually didn’t. “Change of plan, Mr. Deadliest Man. We…” He looked at Owen, evidently confused.

Owen scoffed. “We kill the prince.”   
“We kill the prince!” If Von Nazi hadn’t still been necessary for the plan, Owen might have shot him then and there.

As it was, he shot the prince and left before he could be discovered, though not before realising that Curt, too, was leaving in a rush. And Tatiana was with him.

In order for Von Nazi to take over the New Democratic Republic of Old Soviet Prussian Sloviskia, there needed to be no heirs. That was Owen’s job; wife and sister trampled in the riots, brother killed in a freak airplane accident. It was easy.


	35. Curt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Penultimate chapter. I'm sorry.

After the failure in Geneva, Curt was happy to be home for a moment. Even if his mother was being fussy and annoying, even if he was too stressed to really deal with it, even if he was with Tatiana.

Tatiana, who seemed to be into him.

Curt didn’t think he was into Tatiana, but he was willing to give it a try. And yes, he was willing to admit to himself that some of that was the recent resurgence of phantom-Owens, his failures, his desperate need to know that he hadn’t disappointed everyone.

So he disappointed Tatiana, too. “We’re not doing this,” she said, pushing him away.

“I’m— You’re not my type.” He needed a better excuse.

“I can tell.” She sounded suspicious. “So, you’re into…”   
“Yeah.” No point in hiding it.

Fortunately, Tatiana didn’t seem to mind. Actually, it was better after that.

She helped. She helped him wave off his mother, helped him get a team together, helped him find a place to meet and set up. She also made him talk about Owen, so for the first time, Curt got to tell someone else what had happened. In that moment, he knew, he’d die for Tatiana Slozhno.

And circumstances would have that he might. Drunk as he was, with Barb being all over him and Tatiana trying to distract her, Curt knew that whatever they were doing the next morning, they all might die. He thought it was worth it, with these people, for this cause.

The next morning came. Barb set up shop at the small hotel, Curt and Tatiana found a place to hide, and the informant — whose name Curt still hadn’t caught — went in in disguise.

It didn’t take long for the Deadliest Man Alive to apparently realise what was happening, but then again, Curt had expected that.

He hadn’t expected the Deadliest Man Alive to stab Von Nazi in the back. Nor had he really expected Von Nazi to have glitter in his pockets, but that made sense.

“Personal history does have its benefits, Mega.”

Curt had always found something in the Deadliest Man Alive’s voice creepily familiar, but he’d convinced himself it was the British accent, the slight inflections that reminded him of Owen. Now more than ever, he knew it was more than that, but he still didn’t get it.

Owen stepped out from behind the curtain, and Curt’s entire world shattered.


	36. Owen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry

Owen stepped out from behind the curtain. “Hello Curt.” It was freeing to be himself, to be able to look at Curt and explain. “I probably spent as much time hating you as you did.”

Curt was confused and didn’t follow, exactly as Owen expected. Tatiana and the other guy seemed to know more, follow better, but they were nowhere near caught up with Owen and Chimera. They never could be.

The other guy was too unpredictable. Tatiana would follow Curt, he suspected, and Curt was too stupid to realise what he needed to do. But the other guy was too unpredictable, so Owen shot him.

Curt stared at him, hadn’t stopped staring at him, really. “Are you gonna go after me? Or are you gonna go after the machine?” Owen asked. “I think I know which one you’ll choose.” He was about to turn and leave, but then he couldn’t quite help himself. “Oh and Tatiana? Don’t slip up.”

He left. Jacked a motorcycle that was standing outside, and drove away.

Curt followed within a minute, because of course he did. Owen was confident he could get away from him, but some part of him wanted to indulge in their old playful competitiveness.

It was the part of him that had never gotten over Curt, the part that was still hurt and in love. It didn’t matter; it was also the part of him that knew he was better.

There was conversation, in between the chasing and fighting. Owen kept it together through most of Curt’s taunts, threw them back. “You know you broke my heart,” Curt said, real pain in his voice, and Owen almost broke.

_ I didn’t break your heart. You broke mine, _ he wanted to say, but he didn’t. “Don’t deny I was the better spy.” They ran more. They fought more. They talked more. “We’re done!” Owen yelled, letting his anger get the better of him.

“We’re through!” Curt replied, more indignant, looking like he’d given up.

They ended up on stairs, both with their guns pointed at one another. They were both out of breath. “A new world awaits us, Curt,” Owen said, suddenly softer, his anger gone. “A world without spies, a world without agencies, a world without secrets.”  _ A better world. _

“What about our secret?” Curt asked. He stepped up towards Owen, slowly, as he spoke. “The time we shared. The feelings we had. For each other. Are you ready to share that with the world?” He ended up standing high enough that Owen’s gun was pointed at his chest rather than his head.

Owen pulled himself together. This was  _ Curt _ , yes, his lover, but it was also the man who’d betrayed and abandoned him, who was working against him at every step. “That secret died the night you left me for dead.” He wasn’t convinced, but he knew he could convince Curt.

“Clearly.” Curt stepped down again, Owen’s gun back to point at his head.

Some part of Owen wanted Curt to understand. Another wanted him to stop talking. When Curt shot his gun out of his hand, the decision was made.

He knew Curt wouldn’t shoot him, but he’d still taunt him. “You know, killing me won’t take the system online, so… What are you doing?”

“Taking your advice.”   
The last thing Owen saw was the eyes of the man he, despite his better judgement, still loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo, what a ride! This took me way too long to post, it was sitting finished in my drive for months, hope y'all enjoyed


End file.
